The Dybbuk Box
by Disasteriffic Kaz
Summary: A cursed box and an angry spirit; John Winchester didn't always get what he Hunted. Now his boys will have to finish what he started. Post s7e03 TGND hurt/limp!Sam hurt/protective!Dean
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Dybbuk Box

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A cursed box and an angry spirit; John Winchester didn't always get what he Hunted. Now his boys will have to finish what he started. Post s7e03 TGND hurt/limp!Sam hurt/protective!Dean

**Author's note:** Apart from the Xmas fic I wrote, I just can't stomach a world without Bobby yet, so you'll probably get more of these from me. :D I plan on living in fic-denial-land for a while.

Also, this one? Kind of a Sammy whump-fest. No idea why, he just ended up being the punching bag. So sue me. XD Dean taking care of his little brother is just awesome, on account of he's an awesome big brother, or so he tells me.

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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_**CHAPTER 1**_

"Sam?" Dean shouted, waiting for a response and not getting it. "Dammit, Sam you answer me!" He shoved rubble off his legs and looked up at the gaping hole above. "Son of a bitch." He groaned and wished he'd listened to Sam in the first place. Sam had argued the building was too far gone, that this was one hunt they should leave since they hadn't found anything anyway. He'd been determined though. He snorted in disgust at himself and climbed shakily to his knees. He'd been stubborn.

"Sammy?" Dean called again. "God please be alright." He whispered and stood, swaying for a moment. He reached a hand up and felt blood and matted hair over a nice knot on the crown of his head. "Awesome." He took a few stumbling steps forward and stopped, mouth open in horror. The floor ahead of him was caved in like the one above. His fall had stopped but Sam's had kept on going.

"Sam!" Dean scrambled to the edge and looked over but it was too dark to see anything. "Dammit!" He went back, searching where he'd landed and grunted in surprise when he not only found his flashlight but it looked intact. He turned it on, smiling when it actually worked and went back to the hole, shining the light down. Hanging cables and chunks of brick and mortar were highlighted as he flashed the beam around the wreckage, anxiously searching and then he saw him, or part of him. A long arm protruded from under a mound of ceiling tiles.

"Sammy!" Dean crawled away from the hole and stumble-ran out into the hall and to the stairs. His head was still spinning with the knock he'd taken but he wouldn't let it slow him. Dean flew down the stairs, rebounding off each landing and slid out the door onto the floor below.

The beam of his mag-light cut through the floating dust as he kicked his way through a pile of debris to his brother. Dean dropped heavily to his knees and took Sam's wrist in a shaking hand.

"Please be there." Dean whispered. He dropped his head to his chest, sobbing out a breath of relief. He'd felt a strong, steady beat beneath his fingers. "Okay, Sammy." He grabbed a handful of ceiling tiles and tossed them to the side. Bricks and cabling were mounded above him, even part of a rusted sprinkler system. It took only minutes to free Sam from his cocoon. He was lying on his stomach, one arm outstretched on a pile of cracked ceiling tiles looking for all the world as if he were sleeping. The dust pooled underneath his head puffed up in a small cloud with his breaths.

"Sammy?" Dean bent by his brother's head, brushing the dark brown hair from his eyes. "Come on, buddy. Gimme a sign here." The remains of his EMF meter lay shattered by his face and Dean grimaced, pushing it away.

He'd been so sure it was a ghost haunting the building. People had gone in and come out raving, as if they'd been touched by something. The EMF had remained stubbornly silent, putting the lie to Dean's surety. Then the floor had cracked. Sam had tried to talk him into leaving, that the building was too unstable and Dean had laughed it off…about thirty seconds before the floor gave way right beneath Sam and then him.

"Damn, I'm sorry Sam." Dean laid a gentle hand on the back of his brother's head. He ran his hands firmly along his arms and legs, relieved beyond belief to not find any broken bones. He bent back to his head and tapped lightly on his cheek, still wary of moving him. "Sam? Sammy." Every moment his brother remained still drove a new spike of fear into him. Sam had one hell of a goose-egg on the back of his head. "Sammy!" He slapped lightly this time and got a grunt in response. "That's it. That's it, buddy." Dean rubbed briskly on his arm. "Open your eyes, Sam."

Sam stirred, moaned, face scrunching in pain as Dean watched. He gave a little gasp and his whole body jerked.

"N…no, no, no…no more." Sam muttered, fear in his voice.

"Sammy?" Dean touched his back and Sam cried out. "Shit." Dean grabbed him as he started to shake, chanting 'no more' over and over and broke Dean's heart a little. "Sam!" Dean said firmly and rolled his brother to his back. "Wake up now."

"No…stop. No, no, no…" Sam was begging now, breathless. Dean pulled him up, resting Sam in his arms, head cradled in his elbow and against his chest. He wrapped firm arms around him, trying to anchor him. Dean knew where Sam's head was right now. He was in the Cage, in Hell.

"Sammy, wake up. It's not real." Dean gave him a shake and spoke sharply in his ear. "Sam Winchester, open your eyes. Now!" Sam was struggling and pleading. "Dammit, Sam, look at me!"

Sam fought the chains that held him, burned into his flesh…no, not chains…hands? Arms? Lucifer's voice whispered in his ear, telling him to open his eyes and he wouldn't but…that didn't feel right either. He was in the Cage. He was falling. He was being crushed, suffocated. Look at me, Lucifer's voice commanded but…no. Not Lucifer. Not the Cage. He knew that voice and it didn't belong here. Through the pain and the terror and the hopelessness it came more clearly. That voice was home and safe and…

"DEAN!" Sam's eyes flew open and he would have thrown himself forward with the force of the shout if not for the arms that held him tight. Gradually, the pounding of his heart, the blood rushing in his ears and the panicked breathing calmed and he could hear again.

"Sam? Sammy, answer me!" Dean loosened his grip slightly, feeling Sam's taut muscles begin to let go one by one. "Sammy, you with me?"

"Yeah." Sam squeezed from a raw throat. "Yeah, I'm here. I'm good."

Dean rested his forehead in the back of Sam's hair for a moment and quieted the fear inside him. He didn't care if he was skirting the line of chick flick moment. He needed a minute dammit.

Sam shifted uncomfortably, even though the feel of his brother's heart thumping against his ear was soothing. Now that reality was asserting itself once more, he could feel a multitude of bruises making themselves known.

"Where you hurt?" Dean asked finally, sitting back and helping Sam sit up on his own.

"Back mostly…I think." Sam said through clenched teeth. The movement upright was not helping.

"Ok, lemme look." Dean took the back of his brother's jacket and shirts and lifted them up, shining the flashlight. He gave an appreciative whistle. "Dude, you're gonna be technicolored later." He let the jacket drop back over the bruises already starting to appear. "Let's get you up."

Sam let Dean pull him to his feet and held on for a moment as the room spun. Dean slid one of his arms over his shoulders and groaned.

"Sammy, I'm sorry." Dean said. He shook his head. "I should have listened to you."

Sam chuckled. "I should have grabbed _you_ and shagged ass the minute I heard the floor creak. _I'm_ sorry."

"You wanna wrestle for who's more sorry?" Dean grinned and Sam rolled his eyes.

"I'd still whoop your ass."

"You can't whoop me on a good day, little brother." Dean retorted, smiling.

"Bite me." Sam's eloquent reply ended the comfortable, old argument as they reached the stairs and he needed all his concentration to walk up them.

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"All I'm sayin' is seven people don't go off the rails in the same place for nothin'." Dean made the customary circling finger at his temple and Sam chuckled.

"I agree, ok? But we're not going back in that building." Sam walked stiffly to the bathroom door of their motel room, shucking his jacket on the floor. "We need to figure out what it is first."

"You need any help in there, princess?" Dean asked and grinned.

"I think I can handle it." Sam laughed. "Been undressing myself for a while now, dude."

"Not that long." Dean quipped, enjoying the bitch face he received in answer. Truthfully, Sam's back was bruised enough he would have helped if Sam needed him, though seeing his brother naked was never high on his list.

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Sam watched dust and grime swirl down the drain with his arms braced on the wall, head under the spray. He was still shaken from the nightmare he'd been trapped in and it frightened him that the pain he'd been in hadn't been enough to snap him out of it. It was his only control of the hallucinations. He shook his head. There was no use dwelling on it. Dean would keep him grounded. He had to have faith in that, in him. He shut off the water and stepped out. His muscles started tightening as soon as the hot water was no longer beating on them.

"Gonna be a fun night." He muttered to himself, toweling off and slipped on the sweats he'd tossed in earlier. Bending to pull them up sent spears of pain from the base of his skill down to his feet. "Crap." He gasped, slapping a hand on the wall for support.

Beneath his hand the wall moved. Sam jerked his hand away, forcing himself to stand straight, rubbing his hand. It wasn't real, he told himself. Yet as he watched, the wall bowed inward. Blood began to seep from the ceiling, dripping and sliding down the cracked wallpaper.

"No, no, no." Sam backed away and jumped when something touched his back. He whirled to find arms reaching out of the wall. Blood began to drop down on his head and the walls impossibly closed in on him.

"DEAN!"

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Dean waited to hear the water come on and patted his growling stomach. "Should have enough time to grab some grub." His brother didn't know how to take a quick shower. He snorted, or leave hot water. He grabbed the keys and turned to leave. Something from the corner of his eye stopped him. He turned back, trying to decide what it was that caught his attention. There was nothing. He took another step and his eyes narrowed. Sam's jacket. Something sparkled in the dusty folds of fabric.

"What the hell?" He knelt by it and picked it up carefully. Mixed in with the dust on the front of the jacket were iridescent flecks. He frowned. "What the hell is this?" Sam had been laying in the stuff when he'd found him. He wasn't sure why but found he didn't want to touch it. He laid the jacket back down and carefully dusted his hands off.

Surprisingly, he heard the shower turn off. Poor guy, he thought. Sam had to be in some serious pain for a shower that short. Dean pulled his phone from his pocket and took a picture of the strange dust. Something about it was making him twitch. He'd see if Bobby had anything to say other than 'Why you sendin' me pictures of dirt, idjit?' He smirked at the thought, about to dial when Sam's voice shot panic into him.

"DEAN!" Sam screamed his name.

"Sammy?" Dean lurched to the door, drew his gun and threw it open. "Sam?" He looked, expecting…well anything really except what he found. Sam was on the floor, huddled against the sink and twitching as though being electrocuted.

"Dean! Help me!" Sam shouted again.

Dean put the gun away and knelt in front of his brother, confused and terrified that Sam was losing his grip completely. Sam was barechested, covered in angry bruises and shivering.

"Sam." Dean took his trembling arms in a steely grip and shook him. "Sam what is it? Talk to me!" He shook him again. "It's not real, Sammy. You hear me? Whatever trippy shit's coming at you right now, it's not real!" He stared down at the back of his brother's head, willing him to listen, to believe. Sam's shaggy hair, still wet from the shower, glittered up at him. "Damn." Now he knew there was something strange going on. He grabbed the damp towel from the floor and dropped it on Sam's head. He scrubbed hard, using both hands to grind the towel through his hair.

One of Sam's hands grasped Dean's wrist. "Sam?" Dean asked. He rubbed harder and a moment later Sam wrapped his other hand around Dean's other wrist.

"Shit!" Sam cursed loudly, jerking his head up under the towel. "Dean?"

"Yeah, hang on." Dean pulled the towel up. "Hey gimmee one of my hands back for a sec, dude." Sam grudgingly released his right hand. Dean turned the towel over and saw it glitter under the light.

"What…what the hell's going on?" Sam freed his other hand and scrubbed them over his face before looking up. He was surprised to see the walls where they should be.

"Supernatural acid trip, Sammy." Dean said and grinned, trying to find some humor now that lucid hazel eyes were staring up at him. "You got dosed with…with somethin'." Dean tossed the towel in the tub.

"Huh?" Sam asked, thoroughly confused. "You're not making any sense."

"Says the guy who was just screamin' under the sink like a little girl." Dean retorted, making Sam groan. "Hey." Dean caught his eyes. "You aren't losin' it. This isn't your egg cracking again."

"Dean." Sam stared and then shook his head. "You don't know that."

"Yes I do, Sammy." Dean took up his brother's left hand and turned it palm up, the large, U shaped scar still healing. "I promise. Stone number one, remember?"

Sam did. He remembered the warehouse, Lucifer, having no idea what was real anymore, how close he had come to eating his own gun to escape when Dean broke through the hallucinations; showed him reality again. He'd asked Sam to believe in him, to make it stone number one and build on it.

"Okay." Sam took a deep breath, striving for calm and gave his brother a shaky smile. "So, if it's not me, then what the hell?" Sam tried to stand and dropped back with a groan. "Crap."

"Don't know how you even got down there as banged up as you are." Dean chuckled. He got a grip under Sam's shoulders and pulled him up. He steadied him and followed Sam's ungainly walk out to the bed. Dean scooped his phone from the floor where he'd dropped it in his panic at Sam's shout.

"You said something about dust?" Sam eased down to sit on the bed, back protesting fiercely.

"Yeah. It's all over the front of your jacket." Dean waved a hand at it where it lay on the floor. "Was in your hair too, even after the shower."

"You feeling ok?" Sam glanced up at him, concerned but smiled. "Any pink elephants dancing around?"

Dean chuckled. "I'm hoping for midget strippers but no." He shrugged and sent the picture he'd taken earlier to Bobby. "No hallucinations."

"Well at least now we have an idea why all those people went crazy." Sam inched his way to laying down, panting by the time he got to his side. He opened his eyes to find Dean's hand in front of his face.

"Painkillers. Take 'em." Dean ordered, knowing Sam's usual desire to tough it out. "You know you're not gettin' any sleep otherwise."

Sam considered arguing but decided Dean was right and took the pills, then the bottle of water he handed him.

"Get some sleep." Dean tugged the sheet up over him. "Don't worry, any flying monkeys show up I'll scare 'em off."

"What happened to midget strippers?" Sam asked wearily, smirking.

"They're riding the monkeys." Dean replied with a grin and Sam laughed.

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_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** The Dybbuk Box

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A cursed box and an angry spirit; John Winchester didn't always get what he Hunted. Now his boys will have to finish what he started. Post s7e03 TGND hurt/limp!Sam hurt/protective!Dean

**Author's note:** So, I have the general outline of the story but the details, well there may be some wandering. :P Bear with me. I wrote the whole first chapter before I even decided what they were going to hunt. Heh.

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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_**CHAPTER 2**_

The Impala roared along the interstate, Hotel California rolling out of her speakers as she carried her boys south toward Georgia. Dean sat stiffly in the driver's seat, hands thrumming on the wheel. Once Bobby had gotten past the 'Idjit' comments for sending him a picture of Sam's dirty jacket, he'd promised to look into it. In the meantime, he had a job for them. Ever since Bobby had told them, something had been nagging at Dean, scratching at the back of his mind. He just couldn't put his finger on it but he didn't like it.

"Dude this box has a hell of a history." Sam said from the passenger seat, laptop open, the screen lighting his pale face. He was sitting sideways, trying to keep his back from the seat. Dean briefly considered taking a week to let Sam heal up but discarded the idea. People had died and he knew when bodies started dropping, the big bad never waited for the good guys to be a hundred percent before dropping more. The Dybbuk Box. Dean said it to himself again and shook his head. He just didn't like it.

"What the hell is a Dybbuk anyway?" Dean asked and turned the radio down slightly, not willing to give up the music entirely just yet. It helped settle him. "Isn't that some sort of ghost?"

"Sort of. It's a spirit." Sam closed the laptop to give his pounding head a break. "It's from Jewish folklore, a form of possessing spirit."

"Oh that's just what we need." Dean groaned and ignored the shiver it sent up his spine. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Yeah but in this case, it's not attached to a person. It's attached to a box; a 70 some year old Polish Wine Cabinet."

"Is there wine in it?" Dean smirked. "Cause I could search the box while you chase down Casper."

Sam shook his head, both amused and concerned. Dean's drinking had begun to approach epic proportions of late but he said nothing, knowing how it would be received. "No wine. It's supposed to have been used by a group of women in pre-World War II Poland. They called up an evil spirit from Sheol and trapped it in the box."

"Sheol?"

"It's like the Jewish version of Purgatory I suppose. All souls go there, good and bad. The good ones are protected and live in peace. The bad ones are sent to the torments."

"So, not a vacation spot then." Dean commented and Sam chuckled.

"Ok so the original creator of the box left Europe after the war and emigrated here, to the States along with the box." Sam tried leaning back into the bench seat and grimaced. "She dies ten years ago and the box goes up for auction. The guy who bought it from the estate said the granddaughter told him to never open it and then hightailed it when he offered to give it back."

"He tried to give it back?" Dean looked over, surprised and frowned at his brother trying and failing to find a comfortable way to sit.

"Apparently, all kinds of crazy started happening. Lightbulbs bursting, weird smells, his hair started falling out and horrific nightmares that he woke up from with bruises." Sam scowled. "Takes a hell of a strong spirit to inflict actual damage in a dream."

Dean gave him a concerned look. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of Sam being exposed to ghost inspired nightmares when he was still having bad acid trip issues. "Maybe we should sit this one out."

"Huh?" Sam looked up in surprise and then frowned. "Dude, I'm fine. Okay I'm banged up some but it's nothing serious."

"That's not what I'm worried about." Dean scowled. "That crazy pixie dust crap had you tripping Sammy and right now your head aint exactly the best place to be trippin' balls." He knew it was harsh but it was the truth. Sam was maintaining but it was a shaky truce he had with the Hell in his head. Dean saw more than he thought he did. The quick jerks and startles followed by Sam ruthlessly rubbing the scar in his palm. He was still hearing shit, seeing it and Dean knew it. Lucifer was still trying to drive the bus. He would have had more faith in his brother's ability to cope if not for the Kitsune. He pushed that thought away, forcing it back. He could never tell him.

"Dean, I'll be fine." Sam smiled to reassure him. "I can handle a few nightmares if it comes to that. I'm kinda used to them." He laughed but Dean didn't answer him, just raising a brow at him before turning back to the road. Sam chose not to get pissed at him. There were far too many other things to worry about just then. "So Bobby says the latest owner of the box lives in an old Plantation house. He had a stroke and died last month. Since then, three people have died mysteriously in the house."

"It's some kind of hotel now right?" Dean took the change of subject, glad Sam wasn't going to argue with him on this.

"Yeah. Daily tours through the slave quarters and oh yeah." Sam smiled. "A guided ghost tour."

"Oh man, you're kidding." Dean groaned. "Is it actually haunted or are they just jangling chains for the tourists?"

"No idea." Sam settled finally with a knee bent on the bench seat, his side against it and dropped his head to his arm. It was pounding, left over from the knock on the head he'd gotten that was still making his hair stick out funny. Frankly he was exhausted. His sleep had been broken once again by another bad trip and twelve hours later he still felt as though he'd gone ten rounds with Mohamed Ali, hell, he had the bruises to show for it.

"You flaking out on me over there?" Dean turned the radio down another notch, seeing Sam nod tiredly.

"Wake me up when we get there." Sam closed his eyes on his brother's amused face and prayed for a sound sleep.

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"Wake up, Sammy!" Dean shouted in his brother's ear, making him lurch awake.

"What the hell?" Sam punched his brother soundly in the arm. "You jerk!"

"Aw suck it up, bitch." Dean laughed, rubbing his arm. "We're here."

Sam untwisted himself from the seat painfully. His bruised back had stiffened while he slept. "You know I'm gonna make you pay for that, right?"

Dean chuckled. "Give it your best." He slid out of the car and studied the massive, pillar fronted house. It was old but well maintained. Flood lights lit the front, making the fresh white paint stand out against the night.

Sam groaned out of his seat, using the door to pull himself up and smiled at the house. "It's gorgeous."

"You're such a girl." Dean smirked and went to get their bags from the trunk. He waved Sam off when he turned to come get his. "I'll get the bags, gimp. You go get us a room."

"Got it." Sam said, grateful not to have to carry anything. He made himself stand up straight as he walked into the spacious entry. The French doors were open wide, letting in the warm night air. It was lavishly appointed with period furniture and warm rugs covering the well-traveled wood floors. Black and white photos of the house, its grounds and former residents hung on the paneled walls, flanking four sets of doors and a curved balustrade staircase wound up to the next floor overhung with a gaudy chandelier.

"Can I help you, Sir?" A young woman asked from behind a long desk to his right. She looked to be in her early twenties with short brown hair and smoky brown eyes. She gave Sam an appreciative glance as he turned to her with a smile.

"I'd like a room, please if you have any available." Sam took advantage of the tall desk to lean and take some of the pressure off his back. "There's two of us." He heard Dean come in behind him and knew he'd given the girl one of his lascivious grins when her face reddened and she dropped her eyes, embarrassed.

"Uh…we have plenty of rooms. Place is mostly empty." She looked shyly back up. "One bed or…or two?"

"Two." Dean nudged Sam's shoulder with his own. "I aint sleeping in the same bed with my brother."

"Oh you're brothers!" She seemed to be very relieved about that and gave both men another long, appraising look, settling finally on Sam and his big, blue-green eyes. She gave him another shy smile and turned the hotel register to face him while Dean kicked his foot with a smirk. "Sign in, please?"

"Uh, yeah." Sam felt himself blush and did his best to ignore the 'sly dog' comment muttered under his brothers' breath as he signed them in as Sam and Dean Bonham, the same name on their fake card and Sam had shook his head at Dean for that.

Dean passed over the credit card and enjoyed the blush on his little brother's face. So far there was one good thing about staying here; Sammy might get his pipes cleaned and about time. Boy was way too uptight. He took the card back with a wide grin when she handed it to him and picked up the bags. "I'll just wait over here." Sam rolled his eyes at him and Dean wondered if someday they would just roll right out of his head as often as he did it.

"Here are your room keys. You're on the third floor, west wing." She handed them to Sam. "My name's Tara. If you need anything…" She leaned across the desk closer to him. "Anything at all, just let me know."

Sam felt himself blush even harder and tugged at his collar. "Um…thank you, Tara. I…I will." He pushed up off the desk and walked to Dean who was muffling a laugh behind his hand. "Come on, Jerk."

"Man if you don't hit that before we leave, there's just something wrong with you." Dean chuckled as they started up the curving staircase. "I mean, more than normal."

Sam took another punch at his arm, satisfied with the grunt he received and then focused on getting up the stairs.

They made it to the third floor with Sam leaning heavily on his brother. "Wish this place had a damn elevator."

"Me too." Dean grunted. "Dude you need to eat more salads or something. You weigh a ton."

"Girly arms." Sam said with a weak laugh. "Tell me our room is around here?"

Dean ignored the girly comment and snorted. It wasn't as much fun teasing the guy when he couldn't fight back properly. "Over there." He pointed and got them to the door, leaning Sam against the wall while he opened it and whistled. "Man we are gonna stay in style for a change!"

Their room was twice the size of the motel rooms they usually stayed in. Two large windows covered the back wall, draped in white curtains. The walls were done in pastel paisley paper and the carpet a warm burgundy. Two short sofas sat on either side of a low table and the queen beds, piled high with pillows were each covered with their own canopy.

"Ok. I don't care how many ghosts parade through here tonight so long as I get to sleep in that bed." Sam said and wobbled over, sighing happily when he sank into the soft mattress.

Dean chuckled. "Don't worry. I'll get everything." But he was speaking to the soles of Sam's sneakers as he'd already flopped onto his back, rolled to his side and if he wasn't mistaken, was already snoring. Dean shook his head, kicking the door shut and dropped the bags on one of the dressers. He dug through until he found the salt and set about pouring protective lines at the door and both windows. If the hotel really was haunted, he didn't want any wandering spirits wandering through.

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Sam stirred, feeling his first restful sleep in days slipping away from him. He forced tired eyes open, unsure what had woken him and looked sleepily around the darkened room. The mound of quilt on the bed next to him that was Dean slept on peacefully. He pushed himself up on his elbows, mindful of his back and saw the room was empty.

"Huh." Sam said softly, still feeling his nerves jangle. He looked over to the windows and jerked in surprise. Light from outside showed the clear silhouette of a person against the curtains. "Dean!" Sam said, hissing it loudly and swung his legs from the bed. Dean snorted softly but didn't wake. He stood, eyes fixed on the shadow figure and gave Dean's hip a shove. "Wake up." He was sincerely hoping this wasn't another bad trip and needed his brother to wake and tell him so.

"Wha'sammy?" Dean mumbled sleepily.

"There's something in the window." Sam told him and gave him a sharper nudge before crossing the room slowly to the windows. The figure hadn't moved and Sam was almost positive there was no balcony outside their room.

"There's wha?" Dean rolled and looked up, then shot out of the bed, pulling his favorite desert eagle from under the pillow and pointing at the windows. "What the hell?"

"I'm not tripping again, right?" Sam asked him quietly, a half smile on his face, hoping. Dean shook his head firmly and nodded to the window. Sam nodded back and took hold of the thin white curtains. He took a breath and ripped them back. Hovering outside the window was the opalescent form of a young man. He didn't move. He simply looked at the brothers as they looked at him and then he vanished.

"So, actual haunted hotel." Dean said on a breathless laugh, lowering his gun and sharing a wide-eyed look with Sam. He stepped forward to check the salt line, still unbroken, and peered out the wavery glass. It was thirty feet straight down and beyond a massive Weeping Willow stood a lonely cemetery. "What do you think? Someone pop up for a quick peek from the grave?"

As if in answer, a loud knock sounded at their room door, startling both men. "Who the hell's knocking at…" Sam checked his watch. "Five in the morning." The knock sounded again but this time it was between the two windows.

"Uh…no one living I'd say." Dean kept his gun out and went to check the door. He turned the knob, pulling it open and then shut it again. "Empty hall." He shrugged at Sam.

Sam twitched the curtain back in place and sighed. "Well I'm up for good now." He went and turned on the lamp by one of the couches. "I'm taking a shower."

Dean dropped his gun to his side, disgusted. "Man, I was having an awesome dream too." He sighed. "She was just about to lose her top."

Sam chuckled and grabbed his duffel, grunting as his back pulled and headed to the bathroom while Dean investigated the mini-fridge. He flopped onto one of the couches, found the remote and turned the TV on while listening to the shower come on. Dean kept the volume low and one ear tuned to the bathroom, just in case.

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Sam emerged from the shower, cleaned and happy that the long soak in the hot spray had relieved some of the pain finally. Dean was stretched on one of the couches, beer in his hand with an empty on the table watching TV and laughing.

"Dude, you gotta watch this. Anaconda three." Dean waved him over.

"You're kidding right?" Sam chuckled. "Even the first one was awful."

"What? Come on! That's classic camp horror. You're not my brother." Dean shook his head and laughed again as poor Daryl the lab technician was speared through the chest by the giant Anaconda in a spray of fake blood. "Dude this is awesome."

"You have issues." Sam laughed. He pulled their father's journal out of Dean's bag and sat on the other couch.

"You're moving better." Dean observed with a smile.

"Yeah, muscles are finally loosening up some." Sam glanced up at the screen in time to see a giant snake bite off a man's head. "I don't know how you can watch this stuff." He opened the journal while Dean chuckled and began leafing through.

"What are you looking for?" Dean asked after a few minutes of bloody mayhem.

"I was thinking, this Dybbuk box thing is pretty well known, maybe Dad wrote something down about it." Sam replied.

"I don't think he did." Dean turned his attention away from the screen. "I've been all through that journal. So have you."

"I know, but we might have missed it. I mean, it's not something we needed to pay attention to before now." Sam sat back and held the journal up. "Huh."

"What? You find something?" Dean turned the volume down as all hell broke loose on screen.

"Not exactly." Sam handed the journal across to Dean. "There's a page missing but the corner's still there. Look."

Dean did and saw a shred of paper still attached and on it were the letters 'bbuk'. "I always thought that was just gibberish, a scribble. Why would Dad tear out the page on it?" Something scratched at the back of his mind again but as before, it just wouldn't come clear.

"Dean?" Sam asked. His brother's face had gone a bit strange as he stared at the journal, as if he were very far away. He looked up with wide eyes and shook his head.

"Huh? Yeah. We should call Bobby." Dean handed the journal back. "It's just…I dunno." He stood, suddenly antsy.

"What is it?" Sam watched him pace.

"I don't know, man. Ever since Bobby gave us this case. It's like…" Dean trailed off and stared hard at the carpet. "I feel like I've forgotten something."

"We've never hunted a Dybbuk before, have we?" Sam wondered, ranging his mind back through all the years and cases they had worked. Dean shook his head.

"No. No, I'd remember. Name like that." Dean shrugged. "I'd remember, wouldn't I?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** The Dybbuk Box

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A cursed box and an angry spirit; John Winchester didn't always get what he Hunted. Now his boys will have to finish what he started. Post s7e03 TGND hurt/limp!Sam hurt/protective!Dean

**Author's note:** So, I have the general outline of the story but the details, well there may be some wandering. :P Bear with me. I wrote the whole first chapter before I even decided what they were going to hunt. Heh.

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

"_Dean?" Sam asked. His brother's face had gone a bit strange as he stared at the journal, as if he were very far away. He looked up with wide eyes and shook his head._

"_Huh? Yeah. We should call Bobby." Dean handed the journal back. "It's just…I dunno." He stood, suddenly antsy._

"_What is it?" Sam watched him pace._

"_I don't know, man. Ever since Bobby gave us this case. It's like…" Dean trailed off and stared hard at the carpet. "I feel like I've forgotten something."_

"_We've never hunted a Dybbuk before, have we?" Sam wondered, ranging his mind back through all the years and cases they had worked. Dean shook his head._

"_No. No, I'd remember. Name like that." Dean shrugged. "I'd remember, wouldn't I?"_

_**CHAPTER 3**_

One floor down and a building away from the Winchesters, Jason Geery screamed himself out of the worst nightmare he had ever had. He thrashed in the bedclothes, trying to free himself and thumped to the floor, whimpering. He panted, squeezing his eyes shut trying to breathe past the terror.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit." He chanted and scooted away from the bed until his back hit the wall. His dreams had been more and more screwed up the last three nights but this…He sobbed in another breath and opened his eyes. He stared about, assuring himself that he was alone. It was just a nightmare and sagged against the wall, eyes closing again. It wasn't real.

The more he calmed the more ridiculous he felt. So a dream that had started out good, his girlfriend crawling in bed with him and doing the things she did that he liked, had become something monstrous when she'd changed into…he didn't know what. A serious ugly old lady and started beating him. He pushed himself up and winced.

"What the…" He pulled his shirt up and his eyes widened in horror. There were bruises on his chest just where she had hit him. Jason raised his arm in front of his eyes and felt another scream building in his throat as he saw the perfect handprint bruised into his forearm where she had grabbed hold of him.

"No, no, no. This isn't real." He pushed himself into the corner, closing his eyes again and prayed and begged to wake up. He had to still be dreaming. The warm air of his room suddenly cooled, raising goose bumps on his skin and a scratching sound started near his head.

"AH!" Jason shouted and scrambled out of the corner to his feet. He stood in the center of his room, breath puffing out in little clouds, eyes wide in terror. He wrapped his arms around himself. "Wake up. Wake up. Fuck'sake wake up!"

The scratching started again, running along each of the walls around him. He whimpered like a child with his eyes closed, arms tight around himself. A breath of frigid air breathed onto the back of his neck and his eyes shot wide as every muscle clenched, his breath stopped in his lungs and he looked up in abject horror as he felt his body dying.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

"You call Bobby yet?" Dean asked, coming out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam and running a hand through his damp, spiky hair. The shower had loosened his jangled nerves. Now all he needed was some serious breakfast.

"I tried." Sam shrugged. "No cell service. Tried calling his cell on the land line too and he didn't pick up."

"Seriously?" Dean groaned. "We're in a damn dead zone? That's just super." He tossed his towel on the back of the couch and pulled a clean shirt from his bag. "Okay. Well I need food."

"The new hotel manager's in this morning." Sam tossed Dean his jacket. "I was going to talk to him. See what he knows about the box."

"Ok. You do that. I'm gonna run into town. Get some breakfast and cell service and call Bobby." Dean smiled. "After breakfast."

Sam chuckled. "I'll grab something here."

"Watch your back, Sammy." Dean said seriously and strode to the door humming. "I need me some greasy food."

Sam chuckled, as always amused at his brother's capacity and need to eat anything and everything as often as possible. He grabbed his own jacket and left the room, heading down to the lobby. He just saw Dean's back going out the front door in a jaunty stride when he reached the top of the stairs. Sam was actually relieved Dean had gone off for breakfast on his own. He was so incredibly not hungry that morning. His stomach had been rolling in heaves for hours and he was starting to feel as though he were coming down with the flu. His body ached from more than just bruises and his head was starting to get that cottony feeling he dreaded.

Sam breathed a little sigh of relief to see Tara not at the desk. He wasn't in the mood really to flirt or be flirted with. He felt like crap. In her place was an older man in a crisp white suit who smiled blandly as Sam reached him.

"Hi. I'm looking for the Manager?" Sam smiled and held out his hand. "Sam Bonham. I left a message for him earlier this morning."

"Oh yes, Mr. Bonham. I'm the manager. Peter Dinkley." He took Sam's hand in a weak shake and released it quickly. "I'm not sure what I can do for you."

"My brother and I are antique collectors." Sam took a fake business card from his pocket and handed it to the Manager. "We've heard some interesting stories about a Polish Wine Box you have here. I was wondering if I could take a look at it. We're interested in purchasing it." He and Dean had had to rethink their usual method of operating lately, with Leviathans who knew where they were trying to play FBI as little as possible; less flags to send up.

"Oh, well there are several antique wine boxes in the house." Peter shrugged apologetically." I really wouldn't know which is which."

"Is there anyone here who might?" Sam asked, hoping they wouldn't have to search the massive house room by room to find it.

"Oh well, I suppose if anyone would, Georgina might." Peter smiled. "She's sort of the head housekeeper here. She's a Creole you know, been here about as long as the house I think." He chuckled. "Or so she tells it. She should be out in the old guesthouse this time of day. Some of our best rooms there, all empty right now." He said sadly.

"Right. I heard you've had some…problems here lately?" Sam waited, hoping he wouldn't clam up.

"A few yes. A few guests over the last month. It's all been rather upsetting." Peter took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it across his forehead. "So unfortunate. Bad luck you know."

Sam knew from the look on his face he wasn't going to get anything else out of the man. "Thank you. I'll go find Georgina I think."

"Yes, yes. Around the house to the back." Peter waved an arm in the general direction. "Can't miss it."

"Thanks again." Sam smiled and turned to leave.

Peter Dinkley watched him go, relieved. The staff had had some absurd gossip lately about a cursed box somewhere in the house. He didn't believe it of course and certainly didn't have the patience for it with how little he had been sleeping lately. He mopped his forehead again, annoyed to be sweating so much and it wasn't even that hot, barely spring yet with the temperature still staying comfortably in the low eighties. He sighed and folded away his kerchief, then turned his polite smile back on as another guest came down the stairs.

"Good morning, Mr. Geery." Peter called to him and thought the young man looked quite pale and unwell. "Anything I can get you this morning?" Mr. Geery did not answer him though, walking straight past and outside without even looking at him. "Well then. No call for rudeness." Peter huffed and stepped back into his office after another cup of coffee.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

It was a warm morning, but not uncomfortably so as Sam walked around the plantation house. He walked along the side of the house their room sat on and looked up to the windows three stories above, then over to the little cemetery beyond the Willow tree. A gentle breeze blew his dark hair into his eyes. He brushed it away and blinked, unsure if he'd seen the wavery figure among the headstones or not. Sam started walking toward the little fence that surrounded them and then shook his head. If Dean caught him chasing after some ghost without backup, there'd be hell to pay.

He chuckled and turned away for the Guest house again. He could see it beyond a line of screening trees. It was just big enough that 'house' seemed a bit of an understatement. As he neared he could see ivy climbing the sides of the two story building and all the windows open to the morning breeze. Sam saw a woman's head appear in a window above the door and waved, hoping to appear friendly. He saw eyebrows rise in deeply tanned skin beneath ebony black hair with a wide silver stripe pulled back in an impressive bun before she vanished from sight. From his brief look, he got the impression Georgina was one of those old women who excelled in making you feel as though you'd done something wrong, even when you hadn't. He took a breath, preparing himself and stepped inside.

The woman appeared at the top of the narrow staircase and descended quickly, gracefully before turning whiskey brown eyes up and up to meet Sam's.

"What'choo doin' here boy." She asked in a firm, powerfully southern tone. "Aint no one been stayin' here for nigh on a week now."

"Ah, I was looking for you, I think." Sam stuttered a bit. "If you're Georgina that is. You are, aren't you?" He held out his hand. "Sam Bonham."

She studied his face, looking deeply into his eyes and cocked her head to the side, hands on her hips. "Sam you may be boy but Bonham? Ol' Georgina didn't come down with yesterday's rain child. That aint'cho name."

"Huh? I…" Sam's eyes were caught by the pendant around her neck and he suddenly understood. It was a four points; a Hoodoo protection symbol and he looked into her eyes again with new respect. "Winchester." He said suddenly, deciding quickly that trusting her was the best course. "But, we need to keep that name…under the radar just now. You're a priestess aren't you?"

She smiled up at him finally, her eyes crinkling. "That I am, child. Now, why you be lookin' after ol' Georgina?"

"My brother and I are looking for a box." Sam swallowed against the nausea that rose up suddenly closing his eyes and felt her hand grasp his forearm.

"Boy you not lookin' so good." Georgina pulled him, guiding him to a bench along the wall.

"Sorry. Haven't been feeling to good the last couple days." He opened his eyes and smiled, trying to reassure her. "It's nothing. This box…"

"Oh I know what'choo lookin' for and you don' want it." She scowled and crossed herself. "That box is cursed, child but'choo know that. You a Hunter, aintcha?"

Sam nodded. "Me and my brother. That's why we're looking for it." A wave of dizziness struck him and he leaned forward putting his head in his hands.

"Child you got somethin' nasty workin' in you." Georgina placed a cool hand on the back of his neck, tutting at the heat she found there. "What's wrong wit'choo aint natural." Sam nodded weakly and then felt himself slipping toward the floor, unable to raise his head.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

Dean leaned back, stomach pleasantly full and shoved his empty plate away. The little diner tucked in between a smoke shop and a liquor store had been exactly what he wanted. High in grease and low on health. Sam would have rolled his eyes. The waitress shuffled back to his table and topped off his coffee absently but he gave her a smile anyway, even though she wasn't looking. He grinned. Greasy spoons; best breakfast anywhere. His phone went off suddenly in his pocket and he fished it out, seeing Bobby's name on the display.

"Bobby!" Dean greeted. "I was about to call you."

"Dean! Where the hell you been, boy?" Bobby sounded upset. "Damned idjits! I been tryin' to call you boys for a damn day now!"

"Hey! That plantation you sent us to is a cellular dead zone." Dean explained. "Not our fault. What's wrong?"

"I'm on my way. Where are you?" Bobby said fiercely.

"You're coming?" Dean was surprised. "Uh, I'm in town. Sam's back at the hotel, talking to the Manager and eating rabbit food."

"I'm just about to hit town. You get your ass back to the hotel and find that boy." Bobby took a breath. "I found your dust and it aint good."

"Shit." Dean cursed with feeling. He stood, dropping money on the table and strode from the restaurant out into the morning sun. "How bad is it?"

"Well, basically it's Faerie dust." Bobby listened to Dean's snort of laughter. "This aint funny, son. We're not talking Tinkerbell here. This stuff gets left behind when a Faerie dies. You breathe it in, get it on ya and trip bad…at first."

Dean felt a cold chill run up his spine. "At first? What the hell happens then?" He slid into the Impala and brought the engine to life.

"It'll kill ya. Takes about thirty six hours and Dean I been countin'." Bobby paused. "It's been around thirty two now. We need to find Sam and fast. Now, I've got an antidote for it."

Dean gunned the engine, shooting down the street and out toward the plantation, heedless of the speed limit. Fear drove him now. "Ten minutes, Bobby."

"I'm right behind you." Bobby said and Dean heard a horn honk. He glanced in the rearview and gave a strained laugh. Sure enough, Bobby's beat up truck was just pulling into the road behind him.

"Floor it, Bobby." Dean told him and hung up. He cursed himself as the Impala shot down the road for leaving Sam alone. He should have known better. "Dammit." Nothing was feeling right about this job. He glanced up in the rearview again and felt a small measure of peace that he was there at least.

Dean knew it was only ten minutes but it felt like an hour before they finally turned down the tree lined road and saw the plantation house at the end. He slid to a stop outside the front doors, Bobby pulling in him beside him and shot out of the car, sparing a glance for the older man before he dashed inside.

"Hey!" Dean called to the older man in a white suit behind the desk. "You the manager?"

"Oh! Um, yes." Peter stared at the young, dirty blonde haired man who'd entered so precipitously. "Can…can I help you?"

"I'm looking for my brother." Dean thumped his hands on the desk. "He was supposed to talk to you this morning. Where is he?"

"Oh you're Mr. Bonham's brother." Peter smiled. "Very nice young man."

Dean did his best not to growl. "Yeah, yeah he is. Where is he? Kinda in a hurry here."

"He went to find our housekeeper, Georgina." Peter waved a hand. "In the Guest house out behind the hotel."

Dean turned and ran to the door, grabbing Bobby's shoulder as he passed. "Guest house." He said shortly and both men took off at a run around the building. Dean spared a glance at the cemetery as they ran past and put on an extra burst of speed when he heard a woman yell for help. He barely registered the ivy covered building as he ran through the open door and slid to a stop. His brother was lying on the floor, head in the lap of an old black woman and spasming violently. "Sammy."

"You his brother." Georgina looked up at him, relief in her eyes. "I be Georgina. Your brother, he be mighty ill."

Dean fell to the floor at Sam's side and pulled him from her lap, not trusting some strange woman with him. "Sam?" Dean slapped his face lightly while he twitched but his eyes didn't open. He was boiling with fever, his skin hot and dry and his breathing dangerously shallow. Bobby came in behind him, panting for breath and knelt by them.

"Hold him up." Bobby ordered, swallowing his fear as he pulled a large flask from his jacket pocket. "Gotta get this in him now."

Dean pulled Sam up to rest against his chest, holding tight to still the jerky movements. "Hurry, Bobby." He was losing him. He could feel it. Dean helped hold Sam's head back and Bobby forced his mouth open and poured a foul smelling, disturbingly red liquid down his throat. "What the hell is that?"

"Better you don't know." Bobby said and made sure at least half the mixture made it into the boy. He lowered the flask and placed a callused hand against Sam's neck, feeling the erratic pulse speeding beneath his palm. He held the flask out to Dean. "You drink the rest."

"Huh? Bobby I'm fine." Dean argued, eyes only for his brother's still straining face.

"Drink it. You may not have breathed it in but you were contaminated." Bobby waited until Dean reluctantly took a hand from Sam and grasped the flask. "Better safe than sorry, son."

"Faerie dust?" Georgina said suddenly, eyes widening when Bobby nodded to her. "Modi." She breathed and placed a gentle hand on Sam's forehead, sweeping the damp hair away. She closed her eyes so didn't see the warning glare Dean gave her. "He gonna be fine now." She nodded surely and drew her hand back, landing a swat on Dean's shoulder. "Yer Daddy tol' you ta drink, boy! Drink!"

Bobby snorted a laugh at Dean's wide eyed expression. Wisely, Dean said nothing. He simply smirked and put the flask to his lips, upending the contents. "Gah!" Dean exclaimed, sputtering at the foul, slightly rotten taste and the feel as the viscous stuff slid down his throat.

Georgina thumped him soundly between the shoulder blades. "I'm Georgina. Yer brother come lookin' fer me about that cursed box." She smiled. "Tried to fib about his name too. You best not try either boy." She said to Dean.

"You're a Hoodoo somethin' or other aren't ya?" Bobby asked her and got a knowing smile in return.

"That I be. This one he said the same." She patted Sam's shoulder, drawing Dean's attention.

Sam's convulsing was weakening. He was slowly going quiet in Dean's arms, face smoothing of the tension and pain. Dean held his head up when it tried to drop to his chest. "Sammy?" Bobby's hand still lay on Sam's neck and the tension around the older hunter's eyes eased away.

"His pulse is steadying." Bobby said and patted Sam's neck and the side of his face. "Boy when you wake up, we're gonna have a talk about takin' years off my life."

"I think…" Dean dropped his cheek to Sam's upturned forehead. "Yeah, he's getting cooler. The fever's breaking." He sighed and looked up at Georgina. "Thanks. For staying with him."

"When he safe ta move, I show you boys the back way into the hotel." She patted Dean's shoulder. "Too many questions ya'll carry him in the front."

"Thanks." Bobby took the flask back from Dean, shoving it in his jacket. "Now, about that box."

Georgina gave him a cross look and then her eyes got big, rounding and looking over his shoulder. "Oh no." She said softly.

Dean looked up behind Bobby and saw a young man, dusty brown hair and paler than Sam walk stiffly into the foyer. He narrowed his eyes, sensing something very off. The man stood for just a moment and then raised a hand to very calmly aim a gun at Dean's chest.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

_To be continued…_

_Note: "Modi" is a Creole word meaning 'damn'._


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** The Dybbuk Box

**Author:** Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A cursed box and an angry spirit; John Winchester didn't always get what he Hunted. Now his boys will have to finish what he started. Post s7e03 TGND hurt/limp!Sam hurt/protective!Dean

**Author's note:** I'm not sure but this might one of those dreaded boring chapters. XD There's some exposition and some angsty introspection so, I apologize of this does end up being one of those. LOL Next chapter. More action. I promise.

**_Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P_**

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_**

_"His pulse is steadying." Bobby said and patted Sam's neck and the side of his face. "Boy when you wake up, we're gonna have a talk about takin' years off my life."_

_"I think…" Dean dropped his cheek to Sam's upturned forehead. "Yeah, he's getting cooler. The fever's breaking." He sighed and looked up at Georgina. "Thanks. For staying with him."_

_"When he safe ta move, I show you boys the back way into the hotel." She patted Dean's shoulder. "Too many questions ya'll carry him in the front."_

_"Thanks." Bobby took the flask back from Dean, shoving it in his jacket. "Now, about that box."_

_Georgina gave him a cross look and then her eyes got big, rounding and looking over his shoulder. "Oh no." She said softly._

_Dean looked up behind Bobby and saw a young man, dusty brown hair and paler than Sam walk stiffly into the foyer. He narrowed his eyes, sensing something very off. The man stood for just a moment and then raised a hand to very calmly aim a gun at Dean's chest._

**CHAPTER 4**

"What the hell?" Dean growled as the gun leveled at him. "What do you…" He didn't finish. The man cocked the gun, the sound loud in the silence of the foyer. "Hey!" The bullet would pass through Sam's head to get to him and Dean couldn't figure out how to stop it. He didn't have time as he saw the man's finger tighten on the trigger.

"I kòmann rate sòti!" Georgina shouted, rising to her feet and clutching the pendant at her neck with one hand, the other raised outward toward the stranger. The man flinched, gun lowering and then raising again. "I kòmann rate sòti!" She said again, eyes fixed stonily on the vacant blue eyes of the man in front of her.

Dean reached behind him, drawing his gun smoothly and fired while the man was distracted and momentarily frozen. The bullet took him high in the shoulder, spinning him about and sent him crashing to the floor. Bobby was up in a flash and ran, kicking the gun away from the still hand before kneeling beside him.

"That be Mr. Geery." Georgina said, breathless and shaken. "He check in a few days back an' aint been right since." She dropped to her knees by the boys and took a deep, calming breath.

"Bobby?" Dean called, gun steady on the prone figure. Bobby looked up, eyes wide.

"Dean, the guy's dead." Bobby told him and Dean jerked in shock. It shouldn't have been a kill shot. "It wasn't you I don't think." He looked back down at the poor guy and touched his neck again. "He's cold already."

"It be that spirit." Georgina said softly. "The one as lives in that box you lookin' for. I told him." She touched Sam's shoulder gently. "You don' be wantin' that box."

Dean laid his gun on the floor beside him and pulled Sam's head back up. "Sam?"

"He won't wake up for a while yet, son." Bobby told him, coming back to stand over them. "Gonna be a mess for a day or so."

"Oh less." Georgina rose, dusting her skirts off. "Ya'll come wi' me. I get you in the back then I bring you somethin' set that boy right again in no time."

"What was that you were saying?" Dean asked, sliding his arms under Sam's shoulders while Bobby took his knees.

"Tis a Hoodoo spell. I tell the spirit to let that boy go." She shook her head sadly. "But it be too late for 'im already."

"Come on, let's get sleepin' beauty here to your room then I'll come back and clean this up." Bobby rose when Dean did, both grunting at the weight between them. "What are you feedin' this boy, Dean?"

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_**

Dean sat on the bed beside Sam who had yet to so much as twitch. He rested a hand on Sam's chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart. There had been one too many close calls for Sam in the last two days. Given the nagging discomfort Dean was already having about this job, he was more willing than ever to simply walk away and let some other Hunter handle it. Something about the late Jason Geery had driven a cold wedge of fear into his gut that he couldn't dislodge. There was a soft knock at the door and then it opened, Georgina stepping in and closing it behind her.

"How is he?" She carried a teapot and cup over to the bedside table, set them down and ran a hand over Sam's forehead.

"He still hasn't woken up." Dean said softly and startled when her hand brushed gently across his neck.

"Don'choo worry, Ma Chere." She smiled up at him. "He be right as rain soon enough." Georgina patted his cheek. "You get that tea in him when he wake." She sat on the edge of the other bed and folded her hands in his lap. "Now, you be tellin' ol' Georgina how you been touched by that box before."

"Say what?" Dean startled. "Lady, I'd never even heard of a damn Dybbuk til two days ago." Yet again something scratched at the back of his mind and he shook his head.

"You got somethin' in that head o' yours don' wanna be found yet." She rose again and reached into her pocket. "You wear this." Georgina handed him a narrow bracelet of woven hemp and what looked like hair. "Won' keep the spirit out o' your head but she not be takin' you over no how." She picked up Sam's left hand and slipped a second bracelet over his hand, tightening it around his wrist before laying his hand back with a pat. "You give him my tea." Georgina bustled out of the room leaving Dean to the confusion in his head. The longer he thought about it, the more he thought she might be right; that there was something he couldn't…or wouldn't remember. The scrap of paper in Dad's journal was another nail in the certainty that something had happened and the memory was eluding him.

Sam stirred beneath his hand, startling him out of his reverie. "Sam?" He rubbed his knuckles firmly against Sam's sternum, using the irritation to wake him. "Come on, Sammy. Rise and shine." It took a minute but eventually lids slitted open over blue-green eyes.

"Dean?" Sam's eyes rolled around a few times and then focused on him. "What'd I miss?"

"Dude you were high on Faerie dust." Dean let his relief out in a laugh as Sam stared up at him in confusion. "That dust? It was dead Faerie, little brother."

"Gross." Sam groaned. "Last thing I remember is…" He paused, trying to order his jumbled memories. "There was a woman. Housekeeper?"

"Georgina." Dean nodded. "That Faerie dust? It's lethal at thirty-six hours." He put a steadying hand on Sam's shoulder when he jerked in shock. "You're ok now. Bobby got here with the antidote just in time but it was close, Sam."

"Shit." Sam closed his eyes. He didn't think Dean was aware of the naked fear that had been on his face for a moment. That told him just close he'd come to death and it scared the crap out of him. He tried to take a deep breath and it set him coughing so hard his eyes watered.

"Crap!" Dean helped Sam roll to his side and he curled up trying to relieve the painful barking that was tearing at his ribs. "Breathe through it, man." Dean told him. He reached to the nightstand and poured some of Georgina's tea then braced Sam's shoulder.

"I need you to drink this Sam." He scowled when Sam managed to shake his head no. "Yes. You can." Dean waited for a pause between coughs and then quickly tilted Sam's head back, pouring a good dose of the liquid into his mouth. Sam swallowed convulsively, coughed again and then relaxed all at once into the bed, boneless.

"Shit! Sam?" Dean took Sam's head in his hands. "Sammy? I'll kill her!" Dean growled, convinced that Hoodoo witch had poisoned his little brother but Sam blinked, opened his eyes and looked up at him.

"I'mokay." Sam slurred wearily. "Wha' the hell was that?"

Dean sighed in relief and let Sam lay his head back. "I think Georgina's tea oughta come with a damn warning."

"No shit." Sam agreed and let his eyes close again. It had blown through him like a hot wind, burning away the choking cough and the lingering pain in his bones. Lethargy began to steal over him. "Bobby here?" He mumbled and Dean chuckled.

"Yeah, Tiger. Go to sleep." Dean set the cup back on the nightstand and smiled as Sam drifted off. The smile quickly left as Bobby slipped into the room.

"Got our friend taken care of." Bobby nodded. "How's he doin'?" He asked and dropped his duffel on the floor with a thunk.

"Better. He was awake a minute ago. You missed it." Dean smirked. "Georgina's tea has a hell of a kick." He paced to the windows and stared out, unused to being so confused.

"Son, you alright?" Bobby felt a tension from Dean that hadn't been there a day ago.

"Bobby. Did Dad ever go after this box?" Dean turned and asked, for some reason scared of the answer. Bobby's brows went up in surprise.

"Well of course he did!" Bobby scratched under his ballcap. "I thought you boys had memorized your Dad's journal. I know he added a couple pages. You were…I dunno, fifteen or sixteen I think. Check the entry."

"It's gone." Dean told him shortly. He took the journal from the table, opened it and handed it over. "Dad ripped the pages out."

"Now why in the hell…" Bobby stared at the remaining corner of paper with its once cryptic letters and looked up, surprised. "I don't know why he'd do this. I mean, I know he lost the box and he was damn pissed for a while. Took you boys off to Pastor Jim's and holed up for a couple weeks." He shook his head. "I don't get why he'd remove the pages knowing the damn thing was still out there." He handed the journal back to Dean. "You were with him, weren't ya, son?"

Dean tossed the journal on the couch and scrubbed his hands through his hair in frustration. "Bobby, I don't remember." He saw concern in his adoptive father's eyes. "And…I feel like I should. It's like there's something I'm forgetting." He turned away and kicked the wall. "What the hell, Bobby?"

"Okay." Bobby clapped a strong hand on his shoulder and did his best to hide the worry from his face. "We'll figure this out."

"Figure what out?" Sam's voice came muffled from the bed. He rolled his face out of the pillow and had a go at sitting up.

"Hey, Sam. How you feelin'?" Bobby strode over and slid an arm behind him, helping him to lean up against the headboard.

"Um, better. I think." Sam pushed himself up straighter. He actually felt surprisingly good given the events of the last two days. He fixed his brother with a clear gaze. "So what's going on?" Dean had that look on his face. The one that said something was scaring him and he was pissed about it. He didn't see it often, his brother usually did a better job of hiding it. "This is about the box isn't it? The missing page in Dad's journal."

Dean sighed and flopped on the arm of one of the couches. "Georgina said there's a memory in my head I wont see…or some kind of psycho-babble crap."

"Well that explains a lot." Sam said and smiled at him. "Dude you've been off your game since Bobby gave us this hunt."

"Gee, thanks." Dean scowled at him. "That makes me feel so much better."

"Look, I remember some of it." Bobby leaned against the wall and looked up, ordering his thoughts. "I got wind of some weird deaths, called your Daddy. He took you boys and headed after it. It was in Nevada I think. Yeah." He nodded. "I remember John sayin' he was gonna have to cuff Dean to the Impala to keep him out of Vegas."

Sam snorted a laugh the same time as Dean. "Dude I'm surprised he didn't leave you behind." Sam smiled, glad to see some of the tension lift from his brother's face if even for a moment. Bobby chuckled at them, his boys.

"He called me a few days later. Said it was a Dybbuk Box and we did some digging on the history, found the lady who owned the thing." Bobby scratched his head and looked at both of them. "I didn't hear anything from him after that for three days. Then when he called he said she'd caught wind of him and boogied with the box." He shrugged. "I remember he sounded pissed. Upset maybe. He wouldn't say what happened, just that he lost it and wasn't going after it, then he took you boys and some time off."

"That's not like Dad." Dean scowled. "He doesn't just leave a job unfinished and he took a freakin vacation? What the hell happened, Bobby?"

"Son I wish I knew. He never would tell me and I asked." Bobby went and sat next to Dean. "But I think I'm startin' to get a clue." He looked sadly at Dean. "Only one thing ever made your Daddy pick up and hide and that was a close call with one of you."

"Son of a bitch." Dean rubbed his head, eyes closed and sat back. "I don't remember a damn thing about that job, Bobby I swear."

"Dean." Sam swung his legs off the bed and stood, braced a hand on the wall for a second and then went to sit on the table in front of his brother. "Remember the research? Not to mention that poor bastard in the guest house. A Dybbuk is a possessing spirit." Sam said it carefully, knowing how Dean felt about any form of possession and not without cause. Dean's eyes widened and he shook his head.

"Oh hell no." He rose and paced angrily away. "No way did some dead bitch use me for a meat puppet. I'd freakin remember!"

"Not necessarily." Sam said calmly. He saw Bobby open his mouth and shook his head to say, let me handle this. " Dean you know I still don't remember everything when Meg was possessing me." He could see the tension rise in Dean's shoulders, hunching him over for a moment.

"No way, Sammy." Dean turned around and grabbed his jacket from the dresser. "I need a drink." Dean stalked to the door and slammed it behind him.

"Dammit." Sam groaned and Bobby nodded.

"I could kick your Dad's ass right now." Bobby growled. "Why would he hide what happened? Damned idiot!" He lurched to his feet and kicked at the couch in a temper. "I swear, Sam. If I'd known I never would have called you boys on this job."

"You had no way of knowing, Bobby." Sam said sadly. "This isn't your fault. Dean'll get over it and when he does he'll want to remember…whatever it was." Sam forced a smile. "He'll get mad and that'll put his head back in it."

Bobby nodded. "Yeah you're right." He took a good look at Sam, his pale face and drawn eyes. "In the meantime, we're gettin' some food in you."

"Not really hungry." Sam said and sighed when Bobby took his arm and pulled him up.

"Tough noogies, kid." Bobby propelled him toward the door. For someone with a brain the size of a planet, Sam could be an idiot when it came to caring for himself. "You're eating. Let's go and don't argue. You're in no shape to win right now."

Sam snorted a laugh. "Geez, Bobby alright."

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_**

Dean had taken a six pack from behind the unmanned bar and found a quiet spot outside, sitting on the side of an old fountain. The water fell softly behind him while an early summer breeze blew warm against his face. He didn't hear the birds, didn't really care at that point. He was busy doing something he didn't often do; cursing his father. It was becoming painfully clear to him that something bad had happened a long time ago, something he couldn't remember and his Dad had gone to great lengths to keep it that way.

"You son of a bitch." Dean muttered and emptied his first beer, grabbing another. When his Dad thought he was right, he'd always done what he thought needed doing and damn the consequences to his kids. He thought about Sam, how lonely the poor kid had been growing up with no regular home, no friends he could keep and it had all been because their Dad knew he was doing 'the right thing'. "Well that was just crap." Dean tossed the empty bottle off into the trees. The only thing he'd done was turn his youngest into a lonely, angry kid and his oldest into a damn warrior before he'd even hit double digits.

He looked up to the clear blue sky, letting the sun blind him for a moment before looking away. "Well good job, Dad." Dean took another swig of beer and raised the bottle in a toast. "Check out the great lives you gave your sons. All-expense paid trips to hell, demons, angels, the damn apocalypse and oh yeah, just for kicks, hungry monsters from the dawn of freakin' time! Job well done." He drained the beer and chucked it into the trees as well.

"Dammit." He stood in a burst of frustrated energy, pacing away and back to the fountain, fuming. Gradually his anger turned from his father to himself. "What the hell am I doin'?" Dean shouted at the fountain. Dad had done the best he could, the best he knew how to do. He knew that. None of this was his fault. Thanks to various trips into the past, he knew damn well that all of it had started long before his father had even been born. He dropped his head and sat back on the edge of the fountain. "Sorry, Dad." He said softly and opened another beer.

"How long you plan on sittin' out here feelin' sorry fo' yourself, Ma Chere?" Georgina's voice made him jump, sloshing beer.

"Crap!" Dean shook the beer off his hand. "That's alcohol abuse lady. Where the hell did you come from?"

"New Orleans." Georgina smirked up at him and sat on the edge of the fountain, watching him glare at her. "You don' scare me, boy. Now sit. Talk." She patted the stone beside her. "I don' bite."

"Sure about that?" Dean muttered but he sat back down. "What do you want?"

"Same thin' you do. That spirit out o' my house." She nodded toward the plantation house. "Aint no good havin' her here, upsettin' and killin' folk." Georgina smiled at him. "You know a Hoodoo priestess aint' just about knowin' the magic. She more than that."

Dean snorted. "Like what? Turning people into bunnies if they tick you off?" He yelped when she flicked his ear hard.

"Don' get smart with me, Ma Chere." Georgina settled back. "We about helpin' people even when they don' know they need it." She nodded at him. "You be needin' help child."

"I don't need a damn thing." Dean growled and grabbed the last couple beers as he stood.

Georgina chuckled and bravely walked over to the fuming man, patting his shoulder. "Like I said. Even when they don' know they need it. You'll remember when you ready." She turned and strolled calmly back toward the house and left Dean frowning after her.

"Ok this shit is just pissin' me off now." Dean watched her leave and twisted open another beer. He frowned as the white suited manager appeared around the back of the hotel. The man stood there, looking out across the lawn and Dean felt an itch to have his gun in his hand. That itch strengthened when Peter Dinkley turned toward Dean and began walking slowly in his direction, eyes steady on Dean's face.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_**

_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** The Dybbuk Box

**Author:** Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A cursed box and an angry spirit; John Winchester didn't always get what he Hunted. Now his boys will have to finish what he started. Post s7e03 TGND hurt/limp!Sam hurt/protective!Dean

**Author's note:** And the plot thickens…heh.

_**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**_

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

_"Don' get smart with me, Ma Chere." Georgina settled back. "We about helpin' people even when they don' know they need it." She nodded at him. "You be needin' help child."_

_"I don't need a damn thing." Dean growled and grabbed the last couple beers as he stood._

_Georgina chuckled and bravely walked over to the fuming man, patting his shoulder. "Like I said. Even when they don' know they need it. You'll remember when you ready." She turned and strolled calmly back toward the house and left Dean frowning after her._

_"Ok this shit is just pissin' me off now." Dean watched her leave and twisted open another beer. He frowned as the white suited manager appeared around the back of the hotel. The man stood there, looking out across the lawn and Dean felt an itch to have his gun in his hand. That itch strengthened when Peter Dinkley turned toward Dean and began walking slowly in his direction, eyes steady on Dean's face._

**CHAPTER 5**

"You know this place is creepily empty." Sam observed. There was only one other diner in the dining room with them for lunch. He'd taken a look at the hotel register as the desk was unmanned and there were only half a dozen others staying in the place.

Bobby nodded. "True. Suppose people dyin' will kill business though."

"Yeah but I haven't even seen the other guests except for that guy over there." Sam nodded at the white haired man hunched over his soup. "Doesn't look like he's enjoying his stay either."

"Not a lot of staff around either." Bobby polished off the last of his burger and glared at Sam who'd done little more than push bits of lettuce around his plate. "Boy either you eat that rabbit food or I'm gonna make you."

Sam scowled at him but took a bite to placate him. The truth was his appetite had yet to really come back since…since the wall came down. Lately eating was something he did because he had to, not because he really wanted too. Everything turned his stomach and he knew it was the stress but that didn't help him deal with it. He made himself eat the rest of the salad while Bobby watched until the older man finally nodded, satisfied.

"Guess that'll have to do for now." Bobby shook his head at him. "You boys drive me round the bend you know that?" He rose. "I need more coffee."

"Sammy. Poor Sammy." Lucifer's voice startled Sam and he turned to see him, or the vision of him, sitting at the table with the other guest. "You think they ever get tired of taking care of you?"

Sam glared at the empty plate in front of him, studiously not looking at the hallucination.

"Oh you know it's not that easy to tune me out, Sammy." Lucifer chuckled and Sam twitched when his hand reached into view and picked his knife off his plate. "Poor little Sam. Always falling apart. You're a burden on them. Here your brother is having his own problems and what are you doing?" The knife stabbed into the table in front of Sam and he ruthlessly pressed into the scar on his hand. "Sitting here listening to your marbles scatter." Lucifer tsked at him like a mother hen.

"Sam?" Bobby's voice jerked his head around. Sam looked up at him wide-eyed and made Bobby's heart skip a beat.

"Yeah, Bobby." Sam smiled then, pressing harder into his hand until the pain made Lucifer flicker and vanish.

"Just checkin'." Bobby knew Sam was having issues but all in all he was maintaining at a level that he still found to be damn near miraculous. "How're you feeling? Any effects still hangin' around from that dust?"

Sam dropped his eyes and pointedly sat back, trying to appear relaxed. "No. I feel pretty good."

Bobby nodded. Nothing he could do but take the boy at his word. He sipped his coffee and looked out over Sam's head to the manicured lawns and frowned. "Aint that the hotel manager?"

"Huh?" Sam twisted around to see out the window and nodded. "Yeah that's him, hey. That's Dean out there by the fountain." Something felt wrong and Sam rose. "Bobby."

"Yeah, kid. I got the same feelin'." Bobby set his coffee down and the two men hurriedly left.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

Dean backed up, keeping the fountain at his back and set the two beers in his hand back on the stone as the Manager neared him. "Nice day for a walk." Dean said, giving him a smile and debating how many people were likely to come at a run if he fired his gun in broad daylight. Deciding it'd be a bad idea, he rested his free hand at the small of his back over his knife instead. The Manager, Peter, didn't answer him. He just kept walking.

"Hey! Sunshine! You gonna talk?" Dean stared into the watery blue eyes as the man neared and felt fear crawl into his gut. Peter's eyes were just like the other guys; dead. "Crap. Man I don't wanna do this. If you're in there somewhere…"

Rather than speak, Peter drew a long blade from his back and held it out toward Dean.

"Aw what the hell?" Dean drew his own and winged the open bottle in his left hand at Peter's head. It cracked into his forehead and fell away unnoticed, leaving behind a thin line of blood. For an aging, portly guy Peter was oddly spry as he lunged at Dean with the knife. He swung, the blade whistling millimeters from Dean's shirt.

Dean sprang, drawing his own blade and spun into Peter's body. He grabbed the knife arm and bent the elbow back. It should have made him scream or at least drop the knife. Neither happened. Instead, the Manager checked Dean in the small of his back with his knee, sending him forward into the stone ring surrounding the fountain with a grunt.

"Son of a bitch." Dean groaned and rolled quickly, just avoiding a stab to his chest. Peter's elbow stuck out at an unnatural angle but it seemed not to bother him. He switched the knife to his other hand and came for Dean again, cold eyes boring into him.

"What is it with you, you bitch?" Dean growled, knowing now for sure that the Dybbuk was inside the poor man. He kicked out, collapsing the Manager's right knee. A lifetime of training gave him the speed to get behind Peter and force him down over the fountain's edge. He trapped the knife arm with his own and placed his blade against the Manager's throat. "Why do you want me dead so badly, huh? What do you want?"

The hemp bracelet Georgina had given him rested against the bare skin of Peter's neck and his body shuddered wildly. A thin mist erupted from his back, shooting up into the air and dissipating. Peter's body went suddenly lax beneath Dean and he stepped back, letting him slide to the ground in an unconscious heap.

"Dean!" Sam shouted and sprinted the last few yards to his brother. His gun drawn, he stayed just out of reach of the prone Manager, sights trained. "Are you okay?" Bobby puffed up behind him and took the scene in with wide eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Dean put his knife away and picked up Peter's, shoving that into his belt. He knelt beside him and reached for the pulse in his neck. He expected nothing and was surprised to find a weak pulse. "Shit. He's still alive."

"Get back inside the hotel." Bobby told them. "I'll go call an ambulance. Tell 'em I saw some guy getting mugged out here." Bobby bent and rifled the manager's pockets, coming out with his wallet. "Go on before someone sees ya!"

"Come on, Dean." Sam took his elbow and gave a tug. "I know there's at least one guy in the dining room who can see out here if he turns around."

"Hang on." Dean plucked the two full beers off the fountain and jogged over to the copse of trees, coming out with the other three empties and met Sam. "Prints." Dean said shortly and nodded as his brother bent to collect the pieces of the broken bottle.

"Git you two." Bobby called and the boys broke into a jog, eyes alert for any prying eyes as they headed out of sight.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

"They're after you." Sam commented as they reached their room. "For some reason the Dybbuk really really doesn't like you."

"Yeah, not my usual effect on women." Dean quipped in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Why'd she leave the guy?" Sam asked, sliding the key into the lock and pushed the door open.

"Boys, you got a problem." Georgina startled them, waiting inside the room for them, face grim.

"You know, you've got some personal boundary issues." Dean said angrily. "Next time how about you wait outside and knock like a normal person?"

"Ain' no one in this room normal." Georgina said with a smirk. "You got a problem."

"What? Other than some crazy bitch ghost taking people over and trying to kill me?" Dean stalked into the room and over to her. "You know more than you're saying and I'm tired of being two steps behind here."

"Dean." Sam put a hand on his arm, waiting until his brother stepped away and sat on the couch in a huff. "I remember you." Sam said to her. "Sort of. Thank you for staying with me until my brother got there." He smiled and she reached up, patting his cheek lightly.

"There be too many voices in that head o' yours, Ma Chere to leave you alone." She replied and surprised him before turning back to Dean. "I went to get the box and it's gone. Someone's moved it an' I don' like that one bit."

"Dammit." Dean cursed and rolled his eyes. "It was the Manager. I'd bet on it."

"Peter?" Georgina asked, surprised. "He be dead then."

"No." Sam assured her. "He's alive. Our friend's calling an ambulance for him right now."

Georgina nodded, relieved. "Well you boys best be gettin' to lookin' then. That box ain' gonna find itself." She turned back to Sam and took up his left wrist, plucking at the bracelet he hadn't realized was there. "This be why the spirit let Peter be. It must have touched his skin. You best not be takin' this off."

"Hang on." Dean stood and moved to block her way. "You got a real bad habit of walkin' off without sayin' a damn thing."

Georgina narrowed her eyes at him. "Child, you be havin' a rough time, I know but don' be thinkin' you can give me lip." She swatted a hand against his chest. "There's not a thing I can tell ya you don' already have up there." She pointed at his head. "I know what you think but I can't see no thoughts in there. What's hidden from you be hidden from me too." She stepped around him again and left quickly.

"So I guess we're gonna have to search this place top to bottom anyway." Sam groaned. "Wonderful." He played with the bracelet around his wrist, seeing a matching one on Dean's. "These keep spirits from possessing us?"

"Yeah." Dean was staring at the door and shook his head. "It drove the Dybbuk out of the Manager when it touched his skin so at least we've got that going for us."

Sam yawned. "Well if we're gonna be up all damn night searching this place, I'm getting some sleep." Sam pulled his sweats out of his bag and headed for the bathroom. "You should too."

"I'll wait for Bobby." Dean rolled his eyes when Sam stared at him. "Then I'll get some sleep. I promise mom."

Sam smirked and shut the bathroom door behind him.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

Sam strolled happily along the pier. It was a rare day without classes and the warm hand in his made the sunny day perfect. He looked over and grinned as Jess smiled up at him. Seagulls called above, wheeling through the blue sky. The smell of roasted peanuts and salt water filled the air but all he could smell was her shampoo as the ocean breeze blew her blonde hair softly across his face.

They reached the end of the pier and he pulled her into his arms, snuggling her back against his chest, chin resting on the crown of her head and closed his eyes. Her hands caressed along his arms and he felt her sigh.

"I love you, Jess." Sam said softly.

"You should really wake up now." Sam jerked, eyes shooting wide.

"No." He moaned and turned his head so slowly to see Lucifer sitting on the railing beside them, legs swinging idly. "No, you can't be here. This isn't right."

"You want to wake up now, Sammy. Trust me." Lucifer wagged a finger at him.

"Go away!" Sam shouted, arms tightening around Jess.

"Well it's your dream I suppose." Lucifer hopped off the railing and started away. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Sam buried his face in Jess' hair, breathing heavily and using her scent to calm him. "Jess?" She didn't answer. He turned her in his arms, seeing her blue eyes stare up at him. Something was different. The love was gone. In its place was something cold. "Jess?"

Her hair changed, the blonde tresses fading to grey as her skin sallowed, paled and wrinkled. Her eyes darkened, sunk, became piercing and rage filled their depths. Her hands still wrapped about his wrists and they tightened painfully. He tried to pull away but she held tight. The woman was no longer Jess but something older and hateful.

"No!" Sam shouted and then grunted in pain. She swung one bony arm up to connect with his head, sending him crashing to the wooden pier. Sam looked up in time to see a foot swinging in and cried out as it connected with his ribs. He was pulled over onto his back and blows rained into his chest and stomach.

"No! Dean!" He screamed and struggled to wake from what he knew now was a nightmare sent by the Dybbuk.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

Dean woke sharply in the darkness. He shot up from the bed and turned the light on, unsure what it was that had woken him. He looked over and saw Sam sprawled on his own bed, one foot dangling from the blankets like always; his thermometer. The room was empty but for them. Bobby had gotten his own room and left the boys to get some sleep of his own.

He climbed out of the bed and stood looking down at Sam for a moment. He at least seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

"So what the hell woke me up?" Dean said softly and looked around again. "Huh?" On the outside wall of the room, between the two wide windows, there was now a door. It was a motel room door with the number 42 on it. He wasn't sure why but the door made him nervous. He knew it was out of place, didn't belong there. He was even aware on some level that he was still asleep and dreaming. None of that was able to stop him though. He walked slowly to the door and wrapped his hand around the knob. He couldn't stop himself. Dean turned the knob and opened the door, walking through.

It was a motel room like a hundred others he'd been in all his life. Threadbare green carpet covered the floor and flaking tan paint on the walls. He was in the living room and there was a door across from him that he knew led into the bedroom. Dean walked slowly to it, fear clawing its way up his throat and pushed the door wide. Despite the light being off, it was lit with the glow from a streetlight outside the window. In the far bed, he could see a boy sprawled beneath the thin blanket. On the near side of the bed, his bare foot dangled out.

"Sam." Dean breathed. It was then he noticed the second person in the room, standing at the foot of his little brother's bed. It was himself, his teenaged self. His back was to him but as his younger self stepped forward, Dean saw the flash of metal in the light. He was holding a long knife. The breath began to back up in his lungs, hitching wildly as he watched himself stalk slowly to the head of the bed and pull the blanket back from his sleeping brother, lowering the blade to rest along his throat. "No, no, no. This…this isn't real. I never did this. I wouldn't…"

The sound of a door opening behind him made him turn. His eyes shot wide in shock as his much younger father came in. His Dad set a duffle on the chair by the door and then froze.

"Dean? Sammy?" He called and walked quickly to the bedroom, jerking to a stop in the door. "Dean! What the hell are you doing?"

Dean watched his younger self turn and gasped, stumbling back to thump into the wall with his father beside him. The eyes that stared at his father were dead. They were the eyes of a person possessed by the Dybbuk. He watched himself leave his little brother sleeping and walk towards his Dad. John backed out of the bedroom slowly, letting his son follow, knife shining in his hand.

"Dean?" John raised his hands in the air. "Dean, son, stop. You can stop. I know you can." Dean watched his Dad lure him out of the room and into the parking lot. He followed, staggering with confusion and fear and stepped outside into the cold night. John was still trying to reason with his son.

"Dean this isn't you." John's face darkened as his son advanced on him. "Dammit you bitch get out of my son!" He shouted. "You leave my family alone!" Dean's younger self lunged at his father then and his Dad, the former marine and consummate hunter hesitated just long enough for his son's blade to slice into his side.

"Dad!" Dean shouted. He wanted to run, to help, to stop this nightmare but he couldn't move. He could only watch as the younger Dean rounded on his father. John sent a vicious kick to his son's abdomen, doubling him over. He tackled the boy now only an inch shorter than his father and sent them both crashing into the side of the Impala gleaming black in the street light. John wrestled his boy to the cement, pinning him with the weight of his body and started chanting under his breath in his son's ear. Dean recognized some of the words and realized his Dad was attempting to exorcise the spirit. His younger self began struggling in earnest and then screamed, the sound muffled by his father's body weighing him down as a pale mist erupted from him and vanished into the night air. He went limp then and John rolled off him and quickly pulled the boy into his arms.

"Dean! Dean, ah god." John cradled him to his chest, shaking fingers reaching for a pulse and he sobbed for air as he found it. "Thank god."

Dean leaned against the wall of the motel, panting for air, chest heaving as his father rose on unsteady legs with his tall son balanced in his arms. "How could I forget this?" Dean asked of himself and dropped to his knees, covering his face.

He felt himself falling then, the world gone dark around him and came awake with a violent jerk of his body, slapping his head back into the headboard. "God!" Dean said, nearly shouting it. His heart thundered in his ears and he might have gratefully passed out if not for the similar cry that echoed suddenly in the room from his brother. "Sammy!" Dean rolled off his bed, thumping to the floor on weak legs and turned the light on. Sam shot up from his pillows, a cry still on his lips and scrambled back against the headboard.

"Shit!" Sam said on an explosive breath and tried to slow his breathing. He was damn close to hyperventilating. Hands on his arms startled him badly.

"Sam! It's me." Dean grabbed his brother, waiting until his confused eyes found his. "Sam. Bitch got you too?" Sam still gasped for air and nodded quickly. Dean frowned and reached out to brush a hand under his mouth. "You're bleeding. Why are you bleeding?"

Sam reached up and felt warm, wet blood trickling from his mouth. At the same moment he became aware of the pain in his chest and stomach, of the burning on his arms. He raised his arms under Dean's hands and looked to find handprints bruised into each of his forearms. "Holy crap." He breathed.

Dean's eyes opened wide, shock and anger creeping into his face. "That bitch." He saw Sam start to hunch forward and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Where else?"

"Chest. Stomach." Sam managed on a pained breath as Dean yanked his sleep shirt up and hissed. He was covered in bruises, all resembling fists and small ones at that.

Sam stared up at him. "You're not marked. She didn't get you?"

Dean flinched and stepped away from him, sitting heavily on the side of the bed. "Oh she got me." Dean said softly and dropped his head into his hands.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** The Dybbuk Box

**Author:** Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A cursed box and an angry spirit; John Winchester didn't always get what he Hunted. Now his boys will have to finish what he started. Post s7e03 TGND hurt/limp!Sam hurt/protective!Dean

**Author's note:** There was a slight delay with this chapter. Heh. At first I just couldn't get my muse to cooperate, tweeted the same and that the boys had gone awol on me, a friend commented and cracked me up and that led to me having to write a completely AU over-long drabble you can find on my profile if you're so inclined: **"When Inspiration Strikes"** Ok it's more of a dribble. A little glimpse into my head while I write.:P

Also, Supernatural winning Best SciFi and Best Drama at the PCA's… WOOT! Congratulations to all the amazing Cast and Crew and to all of us fans, extended members of the Supernatural family! We done good kids! Kicked it in the ass! :D

Now back to our regularly scheduled programming…

_**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**_

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

_Sam reached up and felt warm, wet blood trickling from his mouth. At the same moment he became aware of the pain in his chest and stomach, of the burning on his arms. He raised his arms under Dean's hands and looked to find handprints bruised into each of his forearms. "Holy crap." He breathed._

_Dean's eyes opened wide, shock and anger creeping into his face. "That bitch." He saw Sam start to hunch forward and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Where else?"_

_"Chest. Stomach." Sam managed on a pained breath as Dean yanked his sleep shirt up and hissed. He was covered in bruises, all resembling fists and small ones at that._

_Sam stared up at him. "You're not marked. She didn't get you?"_

_Dean flinched and stepped away from him, sitting heavily on the side of the bed. "Oh she got me." Dean said softly and dropped his head into his hands._

**CHAPTER 6**

"Dean?" Sam sat forward and sucked in a painful breath. Nothing was broken, he was sure of that but holy hell it hurt. He worked himself slowly to sitting on the edge of the bed and got a better look at his big brother. "Dean, are you ok?" He reached a hand out to touch his shoulder and Dean flinched back from him.

"Don't." Dean lurched to his feet and paced around the room, not helping to lessen Sam's concern for him.

"Dean, if she didn't attack you, then what?" Sam saw a parade of emotions cross his face; fear, anger, confusion but the one that concerned him most was the brief flash of self-loathing. "Dean what did she do to you?"

Dean strode to the wall and planted his fist through the plaster before taking a deep breath and turning back to face him. "She showed me what I forgot." He said softly, angrily.

Sam stared and then nodded, saying nothing. He rose painfully and went to the bathroom. Dean heard him jangling ice from the ice bucket and he came back out with a hand towel wrapped around ice. Sam handed it to him silently and pointed at his knuckles before lowering himself slowly to the couch.

Dean considered putting another hole in the wall, anything to avoid having to tell his little brother what he'd done, what he'd almost done to him. He growled his anger then and sat on the other couch across from Sam, dutifully putting the ice over his raw and bleeding knuckles. He appreciated the fact that Sam didn't push, just sat there across from him studying the handprints on his arms. Dean watched his face and saw the tightening around his brothers' eyes that was from more than pain.

"Uh, you said the Dybbuk, when she attacks in a dream, starts out using the body of someone you know." Dean nodded at his arms. "Who'd she use?" Sam flinched and lowered his arms, crossing them over his middle to try and relieve some of the pain.

"Jess." Sam said softly and stared at the carpet, suddenly very interested in the pattern.

Dean nodded, understanding now why the fist shaped bruises on his torso were so small. "Sorry." Dean said, feeling lame and flexed his knuckles. He suddenly wanted very much to be able to plant his fist in the bitches face for using Sam's memory against him. Dean took a deep breath, trying for calm and almost getting there. "She possessed me." He said suddenly and Sam's head jerked up but he didn't look surprised. He had already suggested as much to Dean earlier.

"What happened?" Sam asked quietly, feeling for his brother, knowing the nightmare this was going to be for him to live with.

"I…she…tried to kill Dad." Dean glanced up at Sam's compassionate, hazel eyes and got to his feet, needing to pace again. "Tried to start with you though. I had a knife at your throat, Sam." All the anger came back to him, the fear of watching himself about to slice his little brother wide open and with it the guilt that somehow he should have been able to stop it.

"You couldn't have stopped it." Sam said, as though hearing his thoughts. "You were a kid, Dean and she had control."

"I almost killed you! Hell I did slice Dad!" Dean managed, only just, not to put his other fist through the wall as the vision of him attacking his own father played through his head again like a bad film reel.

"No, Dean. You didn't." Sam said very clearly, willing his big brother to accept this. "You didn't do a damn thing. The Dybbuk did. Trust me." Sam said and rose stiffly to put a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder. "You keep thinking like this you're just going to make yourself miserable, end up hating yourself and it wasn't your fault. Whatever she did while she was driving you around, SHE did it." Sam made him look him in the eye. "You told me pretty much the same thing once, remember?"

Dean nodded and managed a small smile for him before stalking away again. He did. He remembered Sam beating himself up over the things Meg had done while she had him. Dean was pretty sure that as much as the murder of the fellow Hunter had hurt him, it was still the things Meg had done to Dean that had truly ripped at his little brother.

"What else did you remember?" Sam asked and sat back down, leaning back with a sigh.

Dean thought about it for a moment and his eyes opened in surprise. "I think…I think she was pissed at Dad." Dean scowled, thinking back and realized he had gleaned some of what the spirit had been thinking while she'd been riding him. "I think she knew Dad was going to destroy the box and she wanted to stop him." Other memories were trickling into his head, research he and Dad had done, his father leaving that night, saying he was going out after something he needed to destroy the box. He remembered too that Sam had had pneumonia and been completely out of it with the fever through the whole thing. Dean looked back at Sam and frowned. His brother's face was flushed now, eyes closed tight with a hand held loosely over his chest.

"Dude." Dean went over and dropped a hand onto Sam's forehead that his brother batted away. "You're running a fever."

"I'm good." Sam said, irritated. "Seriously. I've been banged up worse."

"Yeah but this many times in two days?" Dean raised a brow at him. "Even freaks have their limits, Sammy." He smirked when Sam growled at him.

"You're a freak." Sam tossed back and got up with a snort of laughter. "Fine. I'll take something." He went to his bag and dug out the Tylenol.

"Good boy." Dean smiled and then startled as there was a pounding at their door and then it swung open to admit a very disheveled Bobby Singer. "Uh oh. Think She-Bitch was busy tonight."

Sam watched Bobby slouch into the room and sit heavily. There was a black eye blooming on his left eye, a split lip and he bent over one arm cradled across his stomach.

"We need to find that damn box." Bobby said to the boys angrily. Sam shook his head and handed the Tylenol bottle to the older hunter.

"Here." Sam said and smiled when Bobby looked up at him. "Yeah, she got us too." Bobby whipped a hand out and caught Sam's arm, staring wide eyed at the handprints.

"Damn boy." Bobby let go and wiped a hand over his face. "I was hopin' I'd get in here fast enough to wake you boys up and stop her gettin' ya."

"I'm gonna get dressed." Sam told them and picked his duffel up with a wince. "Dean, you should tell Bobby what you remembered."

Dean rolled his eyes and nodded, sitting heavily on the end of Sam's bed. "Fine. Then we're gonna find that damn box and blow it up."

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

It was after eleven and as far as they could tell, the dozen or so people staying or working in the hotel were asleep or at least in their rooms for the night. Dean, Sam and Bobby started their search for the Dybbuk box on the first floor. Sam left the two older hunters in the dining hall and went around the now vacant desk to check the Manager's private apartment. As he had been the last one possessed when the box went missing, it was a fair assumption that it might be there.

Sam snorted to himself. When were things ever that easy for them? He stepped into the front room, noting the comfortable décor and lack of any real personal touches. "Not big on leaving your own stamp on a place, eh Peter?" Sam said softly and went for the first door. He knew roughly the size of the box and, from the descriptions, what it looked it. It wasn't in the living area. The first door was a bathroom and he left that, coming back out and went for the door at the back. It was Peter Dinkley's bedroom and there he found a bit of personality with a David Beckham poster on the wall over the bad and he chuckled.

"Soccer? Man, Peter you need to get out more." Sam chuckled and searched the room, checking the closets and still found no sign of his quarry. "Damn." Whatever he'd done with it, it wasn't in his own rooms. He headed back out to the lobby and saw Dean and Bobby waiting for him.

"Anything?" Dean asked and Sam shook his head. "Okay. We don't have forever here so we're gonna split up. Each take a floor."

"I'll take the second floor." Bobby said and turned to head up the stairs.

"Dibbs on the attic." Dean said with a smile. Sam shook his head.

"Nope. Come on." Sam put out his fist and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Dude, come on." Dean argued but Sam just waited, brow raised above a smirk. "Fine." He put his fist out, slapping it into his other palm three times before throwing scissors and then cussing loudly.

"Man you have got to stop doing that." Sam told him and slapped a hand on his brothers shoulder as he went past to the stairs. "You're never gonna win you keep throwing scissors first."

"You cheat." Dean grumbled and paced Sam up the stairs. He turned off at the third floor and grabbed Sam's wrist, checking for Georgina's bracelet. "You watch yourself, little brother."

"Same goes." Sam said and smiled. He left Dean watching after him and headed for the attic stairs. Of course, it wasn't your garden variety attic. It ran the entire length of the house and Sam knew from a quick conversation with Georgina that it was divided up into sections and used for storage. In his mind, this was where they were going to find the box. He was sure and he didn't want Dean to have to deal with it on his own, not after what he'd remembered.

Sam reached the top of the stairs and pulled open the narrow door to the attic. It was a little musty as he trudged up the last set of stairs and ended in a long hallway. It ran to the other side of the plantation house and there was a small window at the far end of the makeshift hall. He reached over to the switch to turn the overhead lights on and frowned when nothing happened.

"Guess no one comes up here much." He said into the silence and pulled his flashlight out instead. Its beam cut through the semi-darkness illuminating seven doors waiting on either side of the hall for him. San stepped to the first door and pulled it open. Inside was a small room filled with boxes. He took a quick look, noting that none of them were large enough to contain what he was looking for and closed the door, moving to the next.

Four rooms later and he hadn't found anything other than someone's secret stash of classic Playboys. Dean would have appreciated it he thought with a chuckle and closed the door, moving to the sixth. Sam turned the knob and frowned, finding it locked. He knelt in front of the door and pulled out his lockpicks. It was a simple lock and he had it open in seconds, wondering why someone would even bother locking something in such a flimsy room anyway. He could have punched straight through any of the thin drywalls without even scraping a knuckle if he wanted too.

He stepped inside, swinging his flashlight up and grinned. Waiting on a claw footed table in front of him was the Dybbuk Box. He recognized the Hebrew inscription on the front of the old wine cabinet. "Gotcha." Sam said with a grin. He ran a hand over the well-oiled wood and pulled at the doors. They swung open easily. As they did, the drawer in the bottom slid open of its own accord. He could see a clutter of items in the drawer; some coins, two locks of hair and an odd looking, small candlestick, the miniature head of a statue, dried rose petals and a tiny wine goblet.

He reached his hand out to the drawer and pulled back in surprise as a thick, blue-white mist rose up before him. "Oh crap." Sam backed up and then grunted as the mist slammed into him. It didn't go through him or into him, the bracelet prevented that but it impacted with his chest and sent him flying backwards into the wall across the hall. He crashed through the flimsy wall and tumbled into a stack of boxes, rolling to a stop. The mist twisted and turned through the air, following him and took another lunge in his direction. Sam tried to roll out of the way but the boxes collapsed around him prevented it.

"Shit!" He shouted as it slammed into him again, rocking his head back. Every bruise along his torso was shouting at him in renewed pain as he grimly pulled himself out of the pile and got to his knees. He wasn't sure being possessed by her wouldn't be less painful.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs at the other end of the attic and Sam knew who it was before he heard the first shout.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, cursing when the light switch did nothing. He raised his sawed off shotgun and aimed down the hall. "Sam you ok?"

"Dean she's up here!" Sam called and staggered back out into the little hall. "And she's pissed man."

Dean jogged to his brother, sliding an arm under his shoulder and helping him stand straighter. "You find it?"

Sam nodded to the open door beside them. "In there. Be careful."

Dean leaned Sam against the wall and stepped into the little room. The Dybbuk box sat on a table and he supposed it would have looked harmless if he didn't know what it housed. He raised his shotgun and scowled as the doors of the box closed while he watched.

"Let's see how you like this." Dean fired both barrels of the rock salt rounds into the box. It toppled back off the table against the sloping wall with a loud crash. Dean smiled, satisfied and shoved the table out of the way for a better look. "Son of a bitch!"

"What?" Sam stuck his head through the door and saw his brother standing over the Dybbuk box. It lay on its back and Dean gave it a solid kick.

"Didn't even scratch the surface!" Dean growled. He handed Sam his shotgun. "Watch my back." Dean bent and wrapped his hands around the polished wood, grunting at the weight as he lifted it and set it back on the table. "What the hell?" It was completely unmarred, not even a scratch. He tried to open the doors and they were shut tight. "Any ideas college boy?"

Sam shook his head. "Salt and burn it? There's two locks of hair in the drawer so, human remains?"

"Maybe." Dean picked up the box. He changed his grip so the bracelet on his left wrist rested up against the wood. "Can't hurt." He muttered and turned back to Sam. "Come on. Bobby told me there's a fireplace in his room."

"We didn't get a fireplace." Sam smirked as Dean snorted a laugh.

"Well he's old. Probably needs the extra warmth." Dean started down the stairs. "Any sign of she-bitch?"

"Haven't seen anything since you blasted the box." Sam supported his aching body down the stairs with one hand but kept the shotgun ready in the other.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

"That oughta do it." Bobby rose from the fireplace, dusting his hands on his knees. "Put her on."

Dean carried over the box and tossed it onto the pile of firewood. Sam popped open the lighter fluid and squirted generous amounts onto it, coating the gleaming wood.

"Whoa there, son." Bobby raised his hands with a laugh. "Try not to burn the place down."

"Sorry, Bobby. Just wanna be sure." Sam grinned and stepped back as Dean pulled out a book of matches.

"So long bitch." Dean said in a low, fierce voice and lit the book, tossing it in and stepping back as the flames erupted up the chimney. They settled on the couches, Bobby handing out beers and enjoyed the bonfire, clinking the beers together. After twenty minutes or so of the cheerful crackling, Sam sat forward. He frowned and then stood to get a closer look.

"Crap. Dean? Bobby?" Sam turned to look back at them. "It's not burning."

"What?" Dean lurched up and knelt by his brother. "No way. Damn it!"

Bobby looked over their shoulders. "Balls." The Dybbuk box sat in the middle of the collapsing wood pile, surrounded by flames and hadn't been so much as singed.

"Any bright ideas?" Dean growled and stood, emptying his beer in a long swallow of nerves.

"Maybe Georgina knows something." Sam suggested and stood. He handed his beer to Dean who looked like he needed it. "You keep an eye on that thing. I'm gonna go find her." He picked up one of the shotguns with a nod to Bobby and left.

Dean scowled down at the fire. "Dad knew this wouldn't work." He said softly and rubbed a hand over his face.

"You remember something?" Bobby sat back down and grabbed another beer.

"Yeah. Maybe. I don't know." Dean paced away in frustration. "That night, I think he went to get something he needed to destroy it." He dropped back onto the couch. "Got no idea what the hell it was though."

Bobby sighed. "I really wish your Dad had bothered to tell me any of this." He stood and went to his bag, pulling out his laptop. "I'll see what I can dig up. There's gotta be something. If your Dad found it so can I."

Dean silently cursed his Dad for destroying the journal entry. He understood why he'd done it. Bobby was right. The only thing that ever used to make their Dad flinch was his boys in danger. He could imagine what had gone through his head when he'd found one son possessed holding a knife to his other son. Remembering it now even made Dean flinch but dammit! They needed that information.

The flames were dying, the wood all but consumed and the box remained pristine as if mocking him. Dean glanced up to the door and down at his watch. "Sam's been gone too long." He stood and scooped the other shotgun off the table. "Bobby keep at it."

"Watch your back, son." Bobby told him and bent over the laptop again.

"You gonna be ok in here with that?" Dean nodded toward the fireplace.

"Yeah. The room's salted and a few other things." Bobby grinned. "She aint gettin' in here…or out if she's stuck in there and I'm hopin'."

Dean nodded and left. It was verging on four in the morning and the Hotel was peacefully quiet. A little too quiet he thought though that could just be the lack of people staying in the place. He padded down the hall to the stairs, ears strained to hear anything out of place. He kept the shotgun hidden beneath his jacket just in case someone went for a late night stroll. No sense in scaring the straights if he didn't have to. In the lobby, the desk was still vacant and he turned down the hall behind the stairs to where he knew the staff quarters were. He'd found them while they'd searched earlier.

Dean was just trying to decide how to find which room was Georgina's when he saw a door with a dent in it, roughly the size of large head and groaned. He had a bad feeling. He knocked softly on the door and it opened immediately.

"About time you came lookin' for your brother, Ma Chere. Get in 'ere." Georgina took hold of his arm and pulled him inside, closing the door behind him. "That spirit she be powerful angry. What'd you do?" She led Dean into her apartment and as he stepped around a long, high backed couch he dropped the shotgun.

"Sam?" Dean knelt by the couch and took his shoulders. Sam lay stretched on the couch, one leg on the floor and, from the way his eyes were rolling and fluttering, near unconscious. "What happened?"

"The Dybbuk she attacked the poor boy in the hall." Georgina picked up his gun and set it on the table beside him. "Cracked his head on mah door."

"How'd you get him in here?" Dean smirked up at the small woman before checking the nasty lump forming on Sam's forehead at the hairline. "Little brother you are definitely getting the crap end of this job." He said ruefully.

"He held on long enough to stumble in 'ere with me under his arm." Georgina sat on the arm of the couch. "Powerful heavy dat boy is."

Dean snorted. "Hey, Sammy. Stop lyin' around on the job." Dean tapped one of his cheeks firmly and was rewarded when Sam's eyes opened finally, if groggily. "You in there?"

"No." Sam groaned and raised a hand to his head.

Dean chuckled. "So your usual then. Come on. Sit up." He got an arm behind his brother and lifted him up against the back of the couch. "You remember what happened?"

"She jumped me." Sam closed his eyes, swallowing back nausea. "I'm getting real tired of waking up on the floor."

"We tried to burn the box." Dean said to Georgina while Sam oriented himself. "It didn't work."

"You be needin' more than fire to send this soul back." Georgina tsked at them. "She aint here cause she didn't know enough to leave. She were summoned and bound. That be different. Harder to break."

"No kidding." Dean sighed. "Don't suppose you have any idea what we need to do."

"Not exactly. There be a special sort of purifying fire might be what you boys need." She stood. "You get him walkin' again. I go find the right book." Georgina stepped out of the room and left them alone.

"How you doin', Sammy?" Dean grabbed his chin and pulled his head back up.

"Better when you're not manhandlin' me." Sam smirked at him, though he looked a little green. "Man I didn't even see her coming. Got me in the back." He rubbed a hand along his chest, trying to soothe the numerous bruises.

"You know, Vegas week is starting to sound damn good." Dean smiled and Sam laughed.

"Can we go tomorrow?" Sam asked and stood shakily with help from his brother. "Be nice to actually give these bruises time to heal before I get new ones." He looked up as Georgina came back in and gave her a wide smile. "Thank you again. I seem to be making a habit of this with you."

"Ah now ol' Georgina don' mind." She patted his shoulder. "Now this 'ere, this might be what you need, or somethin' like it." Georgina handed the book to Sam. He read through the passage. It was a recipe for an ancient purifying fire and a ritual to go along with it.

"This has possibilities." Sam smiled up at Dean and handed him the book.

"Blood of a Hornless goat." Dean looked up. "Is that what I think it is?"

Sam nodded, suddenly serious. "Human. Yeah. Doesn't say it has to be sacrificed though."

"That's Hoodoo yer lookin' at." Georgina said stiffly, raising her chin in the air. "Not gonna find no human sacrifice in my books. You boys take that."

"Thanks, Georgina." Dean said and smiled down at her. "You've been awesome."

Georgina laughed and it was a young, innocent laugh at odds with her age. She reached up and laid a hand along Dean's cheek. "You come back here sometime, Ma Chere. Georgina show you somethin' special."

"Uh…right." Dean grinned and took Sam's arm. "We should get back upstairs." He wasn't sure how he felt about a Hoodoo priestess old enough to be his grandmother hitting on him. He maneuvered his wobbly brother around the couch, grabbing his gun and got him out the door. Dean looked back and his jaw dropped as the door slowly closed. Georgina, the old woman was no longer old. She stood by her fireplace young and tall, one of the more beautiful women he'd ever seen and sent him a lopsided smile that made his stomach flutter. "Holy crap." The door clicked shut on the sound of her laughter and he just stared at it for a moment.

"Dean? You ok?" Sam asked, seeing the wide eyed expression on his face. Dean looked at him, back at the door and then scrubbed a hand through his hair.

"I'm comin' back here." Dean said suddenly and gave him his best naughty grin.

"Dude." Sam scowled at him. "That's just…wrong. You know how old she is?"

Dean chuckled. "Nope. Don't think you do either. Come on, Jolly Green." Sam's face was still that shade that said nausea was nagging at him. "We gotta get that box somewhere safe while we collect what we need for this." He hefted the book. Dean gave one last appraising look at Georgina's door and shook his head. You just never knew with witches.

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_To be continued…_


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:** The Dybbuk Box

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A cursed box and an angry spirit; John Winchester didn't always get what he Hunted. Now his boys will have to finish what he started. Post s7e03 TGND hurt/limp!Sam hurt/protective!Dean

**Author's note:** Here we are! Last chapter! Finally got my Muse to cooperate and stop throwing plastic monkeys at my head. Hope this stands up to the rest! Thank you all for reading and reviewing and keeping me writing. :D You ROCK!

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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_"Dean? You ok?" Sam asked, seeing the wide eyed expression on his face. Dean looked at him, back at the door and then scrubbed a hand through his hair._

_"I'm comin' back here." Dean said suddenly and gave him his best naughty grin._

_"Dude." Sam scowled at him. "That's just…wrong. You know how old she is?"_

_Dean chuckled. "Nope. Don't think you do either. Come on, Jolly Green." Sam's face was still that shade that said nausea was nagging at him. "We gotta get that box somewhere safe while we collect what we need for this." He hefted the book. Dean gave one last appraising look at Georgina's door and shook his head. You just never knew with witches._

_**CHAPTER 7**_

Dean clenched his knuckles on the steering wheel, glaring at the road as the Impala rumbled toward the old cabin that was their home for now. They'd been on the road close to a day, Sam stretched in the seat beside him and Dean still couldn't get over the itch of knowing the Dybbuk Box was locked in the trunk. It was in a duffel that had been treated with holy water, packed in salt and Bobby had strapped some iron spikes to it just to be even safer. He still didn't like it. It made him nervous. On some level, Dean couldn't help the feeling that it was waiting though he knew nothing spirit was capable of getting out of it.

"This'll be done soon." Sam's voice came softly over the low music playing and Dean looked over to see a concerned smile on his face.

"Not soon enough." Dean shrugged, relieving the tension in his shoulders. They hadn't stopped when they'd left the plantation in the pre-dawn hours, driving straight through. None of them wanted to risk something unforeseen happening in a Motel. Dean's eyes burned with fatigue even though Sam had spelled him at the wheel for a couple hours. He'd not slept. Truth was he still wasn't comfortable trusting his little brother with his baby, not after he'd 'borrowed' her and definitely not while he was still sporting that lump on his head and a minor concussion. When Sam's eyes had started to droop and squint, telltale sign of pain, Dean had kicked him back to passenger.

Bobby's truck, lurking behind them the whole of the trip, suddenly sped alongside the car and Dean looked up to see a grin through the passenger window on the older man's face as he shot past and toward Rufus' old cabin, just visible now through the trees ahead. Dean chuckled and urged the engine into a growl, catching up. He rolled the Impala to a stop beside Bobby's truck with a grateful sigh.

"I'll get the box. You go in and get horizontal, Sasquatch." Dean told Sam and raised a hand when he opened his mouth to argue. "Yeah, you're fine. I know and don't care." He smiled his best 'I'm the big brother and I'm in charge' smile. "Go."

Sam shook his head with a rueful smile and nodded. "Fine." He open the door, climbing out and his battered body protested standing after so long cramped in the confines of the car. His legs started to buckle but Bobby shot out an arm and caught him, holding on until Sam got a grip on the door to support himself. "Crap."

"You alright, son?" Bobby peered into his face, worried. The boy looked done in, pale and exhausted.

"Yeah, Bobby." Sam gave him a smile and took his own weight back, standing. "I'm good."

"You want some help inside?" The older man asked and got a shake of Sam's head in response.

"I can handle it. Help Dean get that box in." Sam nodded to his brother, perched in the driver's door and watching with raised brows. Sam shuffled off toward the house, wobbling as though on the deck of a ship until he reached the door and vanished inside.

"He's fine." Dean told Bobby's raised brows. "Just needs a damn nap." Bobby snorted and followed him around to the trunk.

"Good news is I should have most of what we need here, maybe all of it." Bobby said as Dean opened the trunk. "Bad news is one of us is gonna have to give up a pint or two for the damn ritual."

"I'll do it." Dean replied without hesitation. "Sam's already taken enough of a beating and you gotta do the ritual." Bobby nodded. He didn't like it but he agreed with the logic. Dean looked in at the duffel containing the Dybbuk box. "Gonna be glad to see the last of this thing. Gimme a hand, Bobby." Dean reached in, shifting the heavy bag forward. "Bobby?" He looked up when no help came. Bobby stood beside him, eyes wide and staring. "Bobby, what the hell?"

It took him a minute, staring at the man he'd known most of his life before realization hit him like a sack of bricks and he felt the breath whoosh out of him. Bobby's eyes were dead. "No. Ah dammit Bobby!" Dean backed up, mind whirling, reasoning that the Dybbuk must never have been in the damn box when they sealed it in the trunk and it had followed them, followed its home. Bobby lunged out faster than Dean expected, grabbing the side of his head and slamming it into the open trunk door. He felt blood pour down the side of his head as he fell. Dean's eyes refused to focus, head ringing with the impact as he crumpled to the ground. Why hadn't they gotten a bracelet from Georgina for Bobby? He asked himself in confusion and looked up as Bobby bent over him. A knife glinted in the pre-dawn light. Dean threw his left arm up to defend himself but that was exactly what the Dybbuk wanted. Bobby grabbed his hand and slid the blade along his wrist, severing the bracelet to fall to the ground.

"Oh crap." Dean hissed in pain, blood slicking along his arm from the gash in his wrist. Bobby reared backward, dropping to his knees and the now familiar blue-white mist exploded from his chest. It swirled up in the air and then arrowed down to Dean. He scrabbled back on the gravel, trying to get away but had no chance. It slammed into him, crashing his back into the ground and Dean felt the Dybbuk forcing her way into his mind, crashing into his thoughts and stuffing him down deep in his own head where he could do nothing but watch.

Dean stood clumsily, the Dybbuk adjusting herself to his body quickly. He bent and picked up the knife Bobby had dropped. It was different than the last time, Dean knew. The last time he had not been conscious of what was happening to him. This time, the spirit was leaving him awake, allowing him to watch in horror. She wanted him too. He could feel her thoughts in his head, oozing through his own thoughts and leaving him feeling dirty and violated. She wanted him to hurt and fear. She wanted revenge for his father all those years ago, for her work interrupted and for now as the brothers had been close to destroying her again.

Dean left Bobby laying on his back, eyes closed and walked to the cabin. He turned the knob and stepped inside. Sam had turned on the lights, lit a fire and Dean could hear him downstairs in the cellar rummaging around. _Sam! Get away from me!_ Dean screamed inside his head and the Dybbuk laughed at him.

They reached the stairs. She tilted his head, listening and started down them, knife held along Dean's leg. For once Dean was glad Sam hadn't listened to him. If he'd lain down to sleep, he never would have seen the danger coming but he was awake. He had a chance. The Dybbuk sneered at him in his mind, assuring him that his little brother had no chance this time. She would finish him. They reached the bottom and turned to find Sam searching one of the shelves.

"Hey, Dean." Sam straightened and glanced back then to the shelf again. "I know. I know, you told me to lie down but I wanted to see what we still needed first. Ok?" Sam pulled something out and added it to the pile he had on the wood counter. "We actually have just about everything I think."

Dean stepped closed to him. _Sammy!_ He screamed it, willing his brother to hear him. All those times Sam seemed to know what was going on in his head please, god, let this be one of those times! _Sammy, dammit! Look at me!_ The Dybbuk reached out a hand to the back of Sam's neck.

Sam added Angelica root to the bowl and felt a sudden chill crawl up his spine. Something was not right. He spun to find Dean very close and one hand brushing the ends of his hair. "Dean?" Sam's eyes widened in shock, recognizing the vacant expression in his brother's eyes. Dean lunged at him and wrapped his arm around Sam's neck, squeezing.

Dean was screaming, watching his little brother's eyes blown wide as his own arm cut off his air. Sam reached his left hand up and Dean shouted in hope. If he could just touch Dean's skin with the bracelet…but the Dybbuk knew the same. She slammed the knife into Sam's left shoulder and twisted until it hung limp at his side. Sam cried out and Dean suffered. _I'm sorry, Sammy! I'm sorry!_

"Dean!" Sam gasped out between clenched teeth, using his right hand to loosen his brother's grip around his neck as blood flowed over his fingers. "Dean you can fight her. You can!" Sam drove his elbow into Dean's stomach and dropped to his knees when his brother's arm released him. He grabbed a shaky hold on the counter and lifted himself up, turning to face Dean. "You can stop her, Dean! You're not a kid anymore. You hear me?" Sam backed away as Dean rose and advanced on him again, knife held before him. "Dean!" Sam stumbled, went down. A haze of darkness swept over him as his bleeding shoulder met the floor first. He fought it, keeping his eyes open as Dean knelt over him and reached the knife toward his unprotected throat.

Then Dean stopped. Sam stared up at his big brother frozen in place, dead eyes gleaming down at him. Dean didn't move. "Dean?"

"S…Sammy." The word was little more than a whisper across Dean's lips. Still Dean remained frozen in place. Inside his mind, it was all he could do to hold her, however briefly. He knew that if he tried to move, to speak again he'd lose his grip. It was tenuous at best. The Dybbuk was screaming and clawing in the confines of his mind, furious to be stopped so close once again. Sam seemed to understand.

He scrambled out from under his brother, holding his useless arm close and stumbled to the shelves. Sam knocked things to the floor, finding what he wanted and went back to Dean. "Dean, don't talk ok? I'm gonna fix this." Sam took Dean's shoulder with his good arm and eased his stiff form upright. He pushed him quickly back against a standing support for the floor above and pried the bloody knife from his fingertips. "Just a little longer, Dean." Sam murmured to him as he pulled his hands back and used the handcuffs he'd found to secure his arms behind the pillar. "Just hold her a minute more. You can. I know you can."

Sam's head was spinning but he had no time for it. He could see a fine sweat breaking out on Dean's forehead and knew his brother was starting to lose the fight. He pulled a bottle of salt from the counter and poured a quick, heavy ring of it around Dean, wide enough that he couldn't reach it and break the circle with a foot. One more trip to the shelves and he placed several cat's eye shells at points around the circle and stepped back, leaning heavily on the old wood.

"Okay, Dean. It's safe." Sam told him. "She wont get away this time. I promise. I'm gonna go find Bobby. Don't worry." As much as it pained him, Sam left Dean there alone and crawled up the stairs.

_Don't leave me, Sam!_ Dean called in his head and instantly berated himself for the weakness. Sam was doing what needed to be done. The Dybbuk raged. She tried to break free of him but could not with the salt and shells surrounding them, she was trapped. Inside, Dean smiled, relieved. No matter what happened now, the bitch was done for and he didn't care what happened to him. He felt her thought, that she would take him with her if she could and he was ok with that.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

Sam stumbled outside and went to his knees again. He'd lost track of how many times the world had done a flip on him. "Bobby?" He called and felt his heart clench as no answer came. If the Dybbuk had killed him, Dean would never forgive himself. Sam pushed up, lurching ahead to thump into the hood of the Impala and saw the trunk open. He used the car as a crutch and gasped as he reached the back and saw Bobby laid out on the gravel drive.

"Bobby!" Sam fell to his knees and placed his good hand on the old Hunter's neck. "Shit, Bobby. Don't scare me like that." Sam groaned and gave him a solid shake, relief at finding his heart beating strongly sweeping through him. "Bobby! Wake up! We need you. Bobby!"

Bobby groaned, eyes slitting open and then widened as he saw Sam's bloody body hovering over him. "Sam!" He rolled to his side and sat up, grabbing the young hunter's right shoulder. "Damn, boy what happened?" Bobby looked up into the pain-filled hazel eyes. "Ohmigod. Dean!"

"Bobby he's ok." Sam said weakly and couldn't stop himself leaning into the supporting arm. "Got him…in the cellar. Safe for now." Sam eyes started to drop. He fought it. "Ritual…"

"Okay, son. Okay." Bobby took Sam's full weight as the boy toppled into him. "I've gotcha." He rolled Sam onto his back and got a good hold under his shoulders, wincing at the warm, bloody mess of his left and started dragging him back to the cabin. He didn't care what kind of time frame they were on; he wasn't leaving the kid lying on the ground outside on his own. Bobby got him inside and left him lying on the floor near the couch, a pillow cushioning his head and his flannel a hasty bandage pressed to his shoulder. "I'll be back, son." Bobby patted his arm and jogged back outside for the box.

Once in the cellar, Bobby stopped and stared at Dean standing unnaturally still and handcuffed to the pillar. "You just hang on, son." Bobby told him fiercely and carried the Duffel to the small fireplace in the corner, below the one up above. He didn't bother taking the Dybbuk box out of the bag, placing the whole thing on top of the kindling. "We're here, Dean." Bobby said as he passed him again, going to the counter to see the pile of things Sam had accumulated. "Don't you give up on me. Sam's gonna be fine. He's upstairs. Down for the count." He looked to the older brother and thought he saw some of the lines around his eyes ease.

Bobby kept up a low-voiced monologue, gruff and reassuring as he assembled everything in the fireplace. It took longer than he wanted and he had to run outside once to dig up some fresh nightshade. The problem of who would donate the needed blood had been made moot by the puddle that Sam had left on the floor by the counter. Bobby scooped it carefully into the bowl and set it in on top of the duffel and then picked up the book. "Almost done, boy. Don't you let her beat you."

He started the ritual, reading from the unfamiliar Creole words and prayed silently that his boys would come through this ok. He heard scraping from Dean's direction but didn't break his concentration to look and watch the spirit try to fight the handcuffs. Bobby's voice droned softly through the room, filling the space in a metered chant until finally the ingredients in the bowl in the fireplace burst into flame. The fire was blue-white and traveled down from the bowl to envelop the duffel bag. They burned the canvas away to reveal the box. For a moment, Bobby thought it was going to fail as the box remained stubbornly unaffected but then the flames caught at the wood in a brief flash and he watched in satisfaction as it burned and collapsed in on itself.

Dean's guttural scream wrenched him around. "Dean!" The boy was straining against the pillar, the cry echoing up through the cabin. His back arched and the spirit erupted from his chest to be sucked into the fireplace and the remains of the box where it vanished in another flash of light. Bobby ran to him as he sagged against the pillar and caught him, holding him up.

"Son? Talk to me. Dean?" Bobby laid a gentle hand on his face and tipped his head up so he could see it. "Dean? Balls!" He wasn't breathing. Bobby left him hanging there and ran to the shelves, shaking fingers hunting for the key. He found it and dashed back, releasing the handcuffs and caught Dean as he slumped boneless to the floor. "Don't you do this, boy!" Bobby laid him out flat and tilted his head back. He breathed three frantic breaths into Dean, watching his chest rise and fall and waited. Nothing happened and he sent three more breaths into him and gave his face a firm slap. His callused fingers rested on Dean's neck and could feel the imperfect thud of his heart as it tried to keep going without oxygen. "Dean!"

Dean took a shaking breath, then another, wheezing into lungs too long without and Bobby sagged back, feint with relief. "That's it son. Come back to us now." Bobby took his face in his hands and gave it a little shake. "Open your eyes, Dean. You know I aint carryin' you up those stairs."

Dean groaned, confused and forced his eyes open. Bobby's grizzled face was staring down at him. "Bobby?" Dean said thickly. "You kissin'me?"

Bobby snorted a laugh and slapped one of his cheeks lightly. "Get over yourself." Bobby said, voice gruff and he took Dean's arms, pulling him up to sit against the pillar. "You remember what happened?"

Dean looked down at his hands, at the long bloody line on his left wrist, up at Bobby and then lurched to his feet. "Sammy!"

"Easy, boy. He's upstairs." Bobby steadied him when he swayed. "Got some work to do on him but he's okay. Come on." Dean let Bobby support him under one shoulder, mind careening through the memories of the things he'd done and, as they reached the top of the stairs and saw Sam laid out, all the blood drained from his head and left him falling with Bobby's worried words in his ear.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

"Dude, knock it off." Sam's aggrieved voice made Bobby look up from his place in the cellar. He was studying the book Georgina had given them. It made for interesting reading and over the last three days, Dean's constant guilt-ridden fussing over Sam had started to raise the tension level. He rolled his eyes, closed the book and headed up the stairs. As he suspected, he found Dean glaring at Sam, the latter of whom was standing beside the couch and glaring back at him.

"I can get to the bathroom on my own, Dean." Sam said irritably. "I got this."

Bobby grabbed his jacket and shrugged into it. "Boys, I'm going out for supplies." He strode to the door, opening it. "Try not to break anything while I'm gone." He left, hoping he wouldn't come back to blood on the walls.

"Good job. You scared Bobby off again." Dean tossed his arms in the air.

"Get a grip, Dean." Sam tossed back as he headed, unsteadily for the bathroom. "Not my fault you're hollering ticks him off."

Dean fumed while Sam was in the bathroom, taking his brother's book and tossing it across the room with a satisfying thud. He schooled his features again by the time Sam came out and sat in the chair, flipping channels on the TV.

Sam sighed and eased himself back on to the couch, looking over at the tight jaw beside him. "Dean. You have to stop beating yourself up over this." Sam decided to just go for the jugular. All of Dean's temper, his spurts of heavy mothering of the kind Sam hadn't seen since he was a kid, it was all rooted in one thing; Dean was smothering himself in guilt.

Dean jerked minutely and flashed a warning look at him. "Don't, Sam."

"No, we're gonna talk about this." Sam plowed on. "This wasn't your fault. You were possessed, Dean."

"I remember!" Dean shot out of the chair and threw the remote before turning to glare at him again. "I remember everything I did, Sam. Every damn thing."

Sam growled in frustration, rubbing a hand through his hair and tried again. He'd tried a few times over the last few days but Dean hadn't wanted to listen. He was the 'big brother'. It was his job to be the strong one, the responsible one and probably a dozen other things Sam couldn't think of. It was both something he loved and something he hated about Dean.

"And you stopped her! Or are you conveniently forgetting that?" Sam shouted and waited. When Dean said nothing, he felt a brief flare of hope. "I know what it feels like, Dean." Sam said softly and saw the recognition in his brother's eyes. "You can't blame yourself for what the bitch did while she was riding you and then tell me I'm not responsible for Meg…or Lucifer." _Sammy…_ He ruthlessly shoved a thumb into his left palm at the whisper and pushed it away. "None of this was your fault."

Dean's face went red and for a moment, Sam thought he was going to have another explosion on his hands. It never came. Dean deflated all at once with a gusty sigh and thumped back down into the chair, head in his hands.

"Dammit." Dean said softly and turned his head to see Sam. He was right. This was one time when his big brother double standard was going to hurt Sam and that wasn't ok. Sam was not responsible for the things Lucifer had done and god knew the kid was dealing with more than his fair share of crap for saving the world. "I'm sorry, Sammy." He said finally.

"Don't be sorry." Sam told him, feeling like they were finally making progress. "It sucks. I know but you can't let it eat you alive." He sat back and smiled over at him. "You're still my big brother and I still trust you with my life."

Dean smiled into his hand, not surprised that Sam had managed to somehow take a fight and roll it around into a chick-flick moment. He took the words though and held on to them because, as Sam had become more and more independent, knowing that he was still needed by the most important person was possibly the most important thing in the world to him, though he'd never say it. So he rolled his eyes and took the pillow behind him, thwacking his little brother in the face with it.

"You're such a girl." Dean said with a grin and stood up to get them a couple beers. He laughed when the pillow landed solidly in the back of his head. He took two beers from the fridge, picked up the pillow and collected the remote from where it fell before sitting back in the chair. Dean handed a beer to Sam and flicked to the movie he'd seen earlier when he was changing channels and sat back with a sigh.

"What the hell is this?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised as he watched a suspiciously gigantic snake slither across the screen.

Dean put his hands behind his head, feet up on the coffee table and hid the remote behind him with a grin. "Anaconda 4."

"Oh dude you have got issues." Sam groaned. Dean just smiled and settled with a laugh as Sam started picking apart the film at every scene. For a little while at least, their lives were as good as they ever got as John Rhys-Davies hobbled onto the screen, cane in hand and about to be lunch.

_The end. _

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

_For those wondering, if anyone even is, heh, I am a B movie junkie. I love them. Love to pick them apart and laugh uproariously and Mystery Science Theater them like a champ every chance I get. Hence the Anaconda references and dude, Anaconda 3. Watch it. OMG hysterical. Poor Daryl._


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